How Elves Die
by The Windy Woman
Summary: Legolas, Elladan, Elrohir, and Gwairiel seek to destroy the rising power of Morgoth as Sauron's regime also grows. In progress but almost done...I think.
1. Prologue

When Frodo had been carried up and was in the care of Elrond, there came another patient into his care. At that time, the many seeking the council in the matter of the Ring had begun to arrive. Even as he stood upon the porch and bade them enter, a final horse rode up quickly, frightened and wild.

At first they perceived no rider, but then a grey-cloaked figure struggled on the terrified creature"s back, and two men of Elrond"s household ran forward to help him down.

"This is a lady, Gwairiel of Mirkwood. But, my Lord, she does not move," declared one in astonishment. Elrond and Legolas, prince of Mirkwood, stepped forward and found her still.

"She lives yet. See, her face is still warm," said the prince.

"But she is near death, and her soul is leaving," responded the lord. "Take her to a room by the Halfling"s, and I shall tend to her immediately."

Several Elves placed her on a bier and carried her quickly into the house. The lord turned quickly to his guests, standing apart in the silence. "I am afraid, friends, that I must deal with pressing business. You shall be shown rooms and given a meal, and I shall join you when I may."

Then the Lord Elrond and Legolas the lord of her home went up to the room where Lady Gwairiel had been placed. She had been laid on a bed in the center of a small, many-windowed room. Despite the warm breeze, she was shivering and cold, but at least she moved. Her skin was grey, and her eyes distant; arrow wounds adorned her, but that did not seem to be the problem. As the lord, wise in healing, ordered certain herbs from the man nearby and looked closer, he saw a black mark, a dark smudge, on her forehead between her wide, misted eyes.

"She has been touched by the enemy," he announced. "Here. Our plight is grievous indeed if Sauron would dare to attack one so powerful. And this council none too soon, I perceive."

"She dwelt long in the presence of my people, yet never have I heard of power that would attract the attention of the Dark Lord," responded the prince in bafflement at his words. "She came upon our people little after the beginning of this age greatly wounded. She was healed with my people, but never told where she had gone, and always seemed to bear an invisible wound. Perhaps it is this you see."

"Yes, some of this mark is old. But it has grown newly deep. It is the mark of the constant sight of the Eye. It is the sign of a mind burning in agony; a spirit drawn away from the body."

"So he would take her spirit and use it as an addition to his power?" Legolas asked.

"He would make her his servant, and such a power is in her that would make a great ally were she but another wraith in his service. No herb can heal this." And he bent down, closing his eyes in concentration. He sunk into deep thought and called to her in spirit, searching her out. Occasionally the other elf could here him calling her name, but it sounded distant. There came a time when he became silent and did not breathe. With his great power, he turned his spirit away to search.

It was a murky, grey world through which he went, searching across the ground of Middle-earth for her. She did not drift in any abyss that he could probe, though ever he avoided the dark land of the One Eye which saw what it would. But finally it was that he saw her not in the places he looked, and turned with dread to the black land. Even he feared the sight of the Eye. Doubtless she stood before his gaze even now, driving her power against the greater one that oppressed her. And there indeed he saw her at last, wrapped in purple flames and being drawn towards that yawning black pupil, towards the fiery wreathe.

A great charge was in the air as one great power strove against the other, almost succeeding, but not quite finished with its task. He would consume her, and place in her the doom of his tyranny. Oh, it was so easy to turn those who revealed themselves to him. But the great beam of the Eye suddenly weakened; the focus of its gaze was drawn, for there was another figure of power striving forward. He questioned for a moment, and then turned to the new foe before him. But in doing so he released his other prisoner.

It was in that moment that the lady Gwairiel's soul returned to the body and she breathed again. She returned suddenly, a jolt that did not move her body. But even Legolas, only half the blood of the Eldar, felt her soul return to its body and the surge of life flow again through her. But the lord Elrond did not move or wake. He still strove with the great power, trying to keep himself disguised from the Eye.

He strove against it not to be seen or perceived except in his power which was already revealed. In revealing his identity, the power placed upon him by Gil-galad himself would wane and be taken by the Dark Lord, for was it not intimately connected to him, to his ring? It was not Elrond's time to fight or to reveal himself, and he endeavored to keep himself covered.

And then he fled. And he too returned to his body, the gaze piercing blindly after him, searching for his power, the power of the ring he bore which it could always sense. A great malice was released then, and all those in Gondor saw a great cloud rise up within the hour to hover over Mordor, though they knew not that it was sign of his dark brooding.

When the lord returned he found the elf of Mirkwood bending over the lady from his land, speaking in their tongue words of healing. Gwairiel was returned to her body, but still ill indeed, and still suffering in spirit. Then the Elf who had brought the herbs came up and gave them to Elrond, and he tended to the wounds of arrows.

"There is now nothing more to do but wait," Lord Elrond said. "You may watch your subject for me, or else go and join your comrades, but I must go to the perian."

He and the servant left. But Legolas stayed for a minute more, pondering.

"There is more to you then you told me," he said, though she did not hear him. "Once I thought you were healed as much as this Middle-earth could let, but now I see you bore scars you did not show I who healed you. And where have you been? You left early for this council, yet I arrive before you. How did he find you? Surely you did not reveal yourself through some folly."

However, she did not answer in her sleep, and he left with questions unanswered.

It took many days for her to heal. Two days after her arrival she awoke, too hungry to speak to them, but the Lord Elrond questioned her after she had eaten. Legolas wished to stand near and hear what was revealed, but Elrond forbade it.

"She has not told of the horrors of her past before, and now I ask it of the present also. The words will not be willing. Likely I will have to search her mind as she sleeps, and that will be draining for her, still not returned to her full strength. But it is necessary that I know what has happened and how much our enemy knows so it can be better seen what should be done in this matter of the Ring," he said, and went in to her. It was long before he came out, and he would not say what had been told to him.

But Gwairiel returned to health quickly and was soon able to go out upon the terraces of Rivendell. Arwen daughter of Elrond was a good friend to her, and accompanied her. Within but a few days she went about the halls with good strides, though still drained in mind.


	2. Dangerous Healing

In the Hall of Fire the singing and dancing went on far into the night on that night of the feast before the day of council. Yet one did not stay to join in the merry-making. As Gwairiel slipped out of the hall, a gentle but hard voice called her name. Turning, she faced Master Elrond. "Stay," said he, "and drink of the laughter. It will be good for one so wrought with sorrow."

"The days are hard, and goodness will not retain its affects in the evils to come. Even you know not all of the sufferings of this world," she answered.

"Yet of your own troubles I know. You should not keep weeping for what is already lost. One must go on, as life goes on."

"But to go on safely, one must examine the past and gain the ability to correct the future. A wise man will not make the same mistake twice. Times are turning; to win this war against evil, we must see where we have failed before," her even voice said again.

"Can you go on until you have been healed? Time and care are the only things that heal a wound such as this. Stay here and you will be cared for like a daughter, for that is what you are here."

"Time?" she asked, as if this was something new to her. "What time have we? The day is now, we cannot bide our time. And my powers will be needed in whatever tomorrow's council may decide."

"If you do choose to go wither this token goes, and it cannot stay in this place, then I cannot stop you. But rest your mind before you commence any journey, wherever that may be."

"Let me brood, my Lord," and she turned away into the starlit night. The master turned back to go, but another came up to the doorway.

"Why does she seek solitude when what she needs is mirth?"

"She has more troubles than anyone yet knows, save perhaps myself," responded Elrond.

"Pray, what might these afflictions be?" persisted the prince of Mirkwood. When the lord spoke no word, he said again, "You know what has befallen her. You know all that has come to her. But I do not, for you forbade me to hear your inquiries. I, who am her lord, and entitled to such knowledge. What is it that she is so overwrought?"

Elrond sighed and spoke slowly. "I think it would be better for you to hear them from her, for it will be good for her, and you will be able to comfort her. I made her tell me, for it was important that I know what had passed. But the words did not come willingly, and in the end I drew them from her in the darkness of her sleep. She needs help and healing, though she is loth to admit it."

As Master of the house reentered the hall, Legolas too came into the open air. He followed the wide, long balcony around many turns in her wake. When he came upon her, Gwairiel was bent over the stone balustrade, her eyes grey and misted, as if the fire had finally gone out behind them. She seemed to have shrunk, and seemed a girl, not a strong lady; her body was thin and withered, and her skin pale and cold for there was no fire within to heat it now.

Quietly he approached, and though her Elven ears heard his footsteps, she did not stir. He leaned on the balustrade also, and saw that she stared straight ahead, her eyes unlit and sparkling.

"For many years we have been friends, though you were perhaps more closed than you could have been. But tell me: what worries you?" he said.

"I'm sorry I never enlightened you," said she coldly.

Her tone startled him, but he said, "You need not hide this past. It will help you bear it if another can bear it also. Tell me what you have learned that makes you sour in temper."

"I am sorry," she said, and she meant it. "But what healing may come from reliving such horror and sadness? And why should another bear my burden? They could not, for they would not understand. If I were to tell you, it would break you also."

"But I do understand," he continued in an even voice, "After my mother was killed, my father took another wife, of the Gwaihrim, as I believe you are. My dear sister, their daughter, had similar sufferings."

"But you do not know of these yourself," she insisted, her voice harsh.

"I have a good guess. You have a great power, that much I know, one that the Great Eye is loth see free. I know that he saw you; indeed that," he motioned to the grey scar marring her forehead, "is his mark. All I do not know is how he came to perceive you."

Her head bowed, her conviction weakened by his persistence. All that he had said he had learned from Elrond, but he did not say so. She remained stiffly silent, wondering how much she should tell him. Finally, she spoke.

"You wish to know of what has recently occurred, so I shall tell you. But please do not press me or interrupt for it is hard to bear and harder to tell.

"It seems only a little while since I left your people and traveled again south to Lorien, on my way to this gathering. I turned, however, into Fangorn Forest, where had lived my people. Our dwelling had been backed against the Misty Mountains, and there I journeyed, expecting to find it dead and empty.

"When I arrived, however, the place was overrun with orcs and goblins, for it seems as they have taken over a net of caves in the lower mountains. I found a place where I could see my old home and saw that it was burned, the rubbish piled in heaps and the trees nearby cut down. I saw against a cliff close at hand an archway, through which the orcs went.

"I did not know that the Dark Lord had gone back to the old arts of his master, speeding them up and perfecting them. But as I looked more closely at the beings themselves, I noticed that not all of them were bred orcs. Some had been Elves, and these wore heavy chains. The other orcs beat them, and their skin had become tough hide. But one was still of our kind, with skin and hair and…and he had a face. He was scarred but not mutated, and I could see the others hated him. But as I watched, he refused to do the work which they set him to, and they came upon him and attacked him."

Gwairiel stopped suddenly. She lifted her hands to hide her face in the shame. When she spoke again, she sounded slightly ill.

"I tried to help him. This was one of our folk, if much changed, which had been taken in the war, and they were trying to eat him. I was taken with the passion of my folk in anger and wrath, and hewed the orcs standing by, though my power was in that revealed to all who were turned towards there. I do not know why I stayed there. Those arts no one knows, except that they are beyond pain and thought. I wanted to save that last one…but before I could do anything, they killed him."

It was now hard to understand what she said, for she tripped over her words. "I ran then, but they shot at me. I ran through the brush and the thorns to my horse. They followed quickly. As I rode away, they pierced me several times. I looked back and could see the dead body of him being devoured. But the pain, Legolas, the pain! And always a great weight upon my heart, as of a great, unseen evil, which even my power could not disperse.

"It was in that rash act and outlet of passionate anger that his Eye must have found me. It is pain beyond endurance; a sight that follows you day and night and drains the hope and the life from you. I fought hard, but I know that only revealed more of what runs in my blood. Perhaps if there had been someone there, to give me the hope which I had already lacked, I could have won, but no. Pain and despair. You cannot escape it: it captures your attention; your every being is focused upon it, for it is the only thing there.

"The searing of my mind, the fire within my head, it was terrible. He gets into your head and cries in a loud voice. You know that no matter how hard you fight, you will relent in the end. And to hear no voice, no word from any other living creature! Sometimes I wondered if I was alive. If it were not for Lord Elrond's healing, I would still be clasped in the strength of his gaze, withered away, not even dead as Men die, but utterly gone."

Now her whisper died and she could not speak, but stood shaking, hands clasped tightly. She had not told him everything, but there was nothing more she wanted to tell him. It was still so hard and confusing. Worse, it brought back memories, feelings, of another time of torture.

Legolas was staring at her, just as confused. It was so unlike her to be like this, to be weak and afraid. She was often reckless and fierce. She was hiding something, perhaps many things, but he did not dare press her. He was rather surprised that she had not yet become mad at him for plying her so much.

Gwairiel needed healing. She needed to talk and laugh as she once had to be healed from sorrow.

He put his hand on her shoulder, but she drew back. The heat burned her cold flesh like the ancient fires that had seared her mind. She looked at him in fear, and he looked back. No light shown from her eyes.

"The light and warmth has gone out from you." Then he burst out, "Why are you dying?"

"My spirit shall never heal on Middle-earth. Yet I am of the Noldor, who left the Blessed Realm in selfishness and must prove their pure motives to earn the rite to come back. I must slowly be subdued by these injuries.

"That cannot be," he said aghast.

"It is true. I cannot even go to the Halls of Mandos to rest."

"You—you're not even able to…?" he could not voice his question.

"I am currently at the status of Men," she said harshly

"I'm sorry," he said quickly. "Let us hope you choose to hold out against these attacks and wounds until you have…been tested."

She said nothing. They had both straightened up and were looking each other in the eye. And there was a light gleaming from within, gleaming from amongst the pain. From those eyes came a beam of hope: weak amongst the sadness and hurt. It was there. The tender, loving part of her was like an arm within the darkness, reaching, reaching, yet carefully so, lest evil come again and cut if off again, come and take away those that she loved as it always did. The icy cage around her heart began to break, as gentleness pried at the edges of her self-confinement.

The way she looked up at him, with her eyes sad, but no longer hopeless, moved his heart. His senses reeled. He knew the power of a lady, it was so very dangerous to be so close to her, and for a minute he struggled. How had her power over him grown? He should not let something like this happen; something told him it was not right. Slowly, he turned his mind to other things.

In some way, he understood all that she could not tell him. To the back of his mind came the memory of another beautiful lady, wasted away by her grief also, but who had not been able to fight and keep hope, but had let her heart be broken by the great power that stretched to maim her. He released the torturous thoughts of his sister, of how he could have saved her, somehow…

He remembered Gwairiel's arrival broken in body and spirit; he had seen the same light and attitude of his sister in her, and her grief slowly wilting her. He himself had healed her, nursing the life back within her. Somehow it had made him feel better; he had not saved his sister, but he had saved her, and that made up for it, for the pale, lifeless body he had found when he searched. He had thought her lost and that he would bring her home with him on his horse. Instead it had been a covered bier born by six men. He took her hands. This was flesh and blood, cold but alive.

But Gwairiel slid her hands away, retreating a few steps and placing a hand upon her side as her recent wounds still ached. She would have to be careful. They were friends, close friend, indeed, more like brother and sister, but no more. She portrayed none of this in her glance, yet she was a lady, and he a prince, and she was glad the night had kept them hidden. But at the same time, she was thankful for him. It had helped, as Lord Elrond had said.

Legolas stared at her unsure, hearing her breathe in shakily and deeply. She spoke: "Perhaps mirth would be good for me. I thank you—for your help. You are wise in healing, as I have seen before; how could I have doubted your remedy of listening?"

Then, to his surprise, she smiled. He had not seen one light her face since he arrived. But now she was smiling, and it was deep and discerning.

"I cannot dance on bruised feet, but I may sing and join in with this mirth. It would please me if you would join me." It would feel good if he were there, now that he had heard; now the mirth would not seem so unknowing and free, but deep and discerning.

"I would be glad, my lady," he responded, returning the smile and following her back towards the lit hall.


	3. Dreams of the Past

Sleep. It is a glorious thing, full of mystery, and potential. And now he slept, and dreamed of things long before. Body erect, shadowed beneath a tree, eyes open. Yet his mind was wondering far, far away to another land in another time. Nearly three thousand years ago, across a great range of mountains. Sight came to his spirit, and he was gone. Gone, gone into…

A glorious night, glinting and fair above the trees, though darkness, cold, and mystery hung beneath their tall bows, where dwelt his folk. Out from the cave they issued, like ants to work; only they went to celebrate the coming of winter. Fires were kindled, and Elves stretched themselves out upon the ground or in the trees, singing and drinking and commemorating the time when the forest grew colder for a short while.

There upon a bow he sat, watching his sister shuffle gracefully among the falling leaves, innocent, fair, young, and happy. Though she was the daughter of his twice-widowing father's second wife, they were still great friends, and he protected her naivety from any harm. She was a princess more than he was prince, for her mother was of the Gwaihrim, a great folk, dwindled of late but once strong and riddled with power over the elements themselves. Timuinel had a way with the trees and stones, as though they spoke to her and gave her comfort in their words; 'there is nothing to fear yet, young one, for you are a child and unsullied.'

Legolas stared down at her in her fun and laughed, so that she looked up and saw him in the tree looking down upon her. And she climbed up to where her grown brother lounged to the singing of his people. But she was troubled; he had seen it in her dance, and she did not smile.

"Come, Timuinel, why are you not glad?" he chided the little girl, still smiling.

"I feel something," she said. She was always open with him, for he protected her from the frightening feelings that came to her with his soft reasoning. Such care between a brother and sister rare existed. "Something great stirs south. I feel the voice of...death."

"Come now," he said, frowning, for he had learned to take her seriously, "Our forest is strong. What is this you feel? Surely the land is cured of evil? You know of the great war that has just ended the horrible reign south."

"I do not fear for the wilderness, though that cries out also," she frowned. "I fear for us."

"We do not die but in battle, Timuinel, and the battle is over. Perhaps you feel that which is passed. Maybe the horrors of this last battle are still fresh with you."

"I don't know," she said, perplexed and still frowning. Then, "No, it is not this late war that feasts on my mind. It is something else, gnawing with a fiery hunger, riddled with wars to come."

"The Great One is gone; he is no threat. Come now, what is wrong? There is mirth here; do not disturb peace with idle fears." What she said was odd, for she was often correct in her feelings, yet he was also of the High Elves, and he should have felt if danger arose. She was just scared, as had happened often since her mother was killed.

As to the Great One, the Dark Lord Sauron, he had been defeated. The Last Alliance: how he remembered it! He himself had been there, had fought in the last great war. He had seen with his own eyes the ring cut from Sauron's hand: his final destruction. And Timuinel knew this. He had told such things that passed, and she knew, therefore, that Sauron could not return. He was dead. Death, a recurring theme. Yes, she should join in and be happy and such trivial dreams would pass in time and trouble her no more.

She climbed down, sitting with her father and watching with a vacant smile. She could not put the harsh feeling out of her mind. If her mother were there, perhaps she too would feel the great wrath that was forming, as a storm cloud drawing all other clouds to it as it darkened and deepened. But her mother was slain by the arrows of an orc, the same death that her dear brother's mother had died. Her poor father had loved them both in turn and had not taken a third wife out of his fear and sorrow.

And now she was alone. She could for once find no comfort in the words of her brother, for he could not feel this. His senses had no connection with rock or tree, though his spirit was intimate with them, as of all Elves. Her father would likewise not understand.

Suddenly a great anger was spurred in her, from what and against which she knew not. The passion was on her sooner than she could understand, and her blood ran hot as she considered the pain that was to come, as she saw a glimpse of death. Death, death; she had not known it before. Yet now it arose, and she could not understand the horror of the unknown pain, and the terrible ending. She could only sit stricken by it, but could not think of it, for she could not comprehend it. Then a pain soared through her where she sat, and her fire was renewed. Anger poured in unchecked. Something was going over her, searching for her, akin to her yet different. Her power awoke.

She had never felt the vibrations of the rock so keenly, nor the whisper of the trees so clearly. Now they blocked out all other sounds so that the singing and talking sounded far away and meaningless. Wave upon wave of strength hit her and rolled tingling down her spine. Her brother was watching her still and he saw her stiffen, saw her turn cold, a light gleaming from within her. He looked closer.

Her eyes began to burn with an inner fire. Her hands were shaking. Something was out there. She sensed it keenly, and threw her spirit forward blindly, snatching at the gaze that searched for her, fighting to do harm to it, for she perceived that it was this that was to cause such pain. It caught her and the pain swept through her again. Even still she held onto it, onto him, a beautiful being. But he was causing her pain and as she watched, she saw in her spirit that his beauty was stripped away forever and he wore a mask of horror.

Now the fire raged in her, but fear also. He had seen her, and held her now, but she clung to her body as her soul drifted. Her consciousness came and went like leaf bobbing on a stream, but the image from her spirit grew sharper and sharper, as he held her in his grip of death. When she looked in his eyes all the fire left her. For a moment she found relief, and the vision failed, then the power engulfed her again, and a blind hate took her, but it was not her own. She fought, but she could see the vision no longer, and the only thing that met her eyes was her folk.

The people were dancing, dancing an empty dance of innocence and hope. Where did this hope come from? Why did they do such empty things? There was a battle brewing, a great evil sucked power and life from her and they danced. A great malice encircled her and she knew suddenly that it was He, sapped of all his power but not his hate. He was but a spirit, half a spirit, but he fed off her, and that gave him more a soul than before. She had power that now gave him strength, for she knew not how to wield that which she had against him. They must gather to arms and destroy him for good. They must fight him off. They had not killed him the first time.

But the laughter that entered her head, weak as this being was, yet evil and mad; it spoke of hopelessness and despair. They could not win. They had not won the first time, simply defeated him, and what was defeat if he could rebuild again? If they defeated him again he would rebuild again. And again. They could never kill him, never destroy him. It was hopeless. They were living a futile existence. She was filled with a longing for Valinor, but the voice within her made her dirty and unworthy, it told her she was outcast.

The dance was futile. The eating was futile. The drinking, the talking, the singing. All was come to naught. This was the end. They would die unaware, thinking joyous thoughts at least, while she would remain rooted to the spot in eternal horror at her revelation. Why didn't anyone understand? Couldn't they feel what cursed her and doomed them? But no. This burden was given to her alone, to carry alone: to die alone. Death.

"Timuinel."

It was her brother. He had startled her, and for a moment hope returned. She would tell him, and he would give her the reasonable explanation that proved it was all a dream. But no, the nagging thought told her. The laughter came again, a bit louder now, breaking her and telling her no. All this crossed her mind in an instance, but Legolas saw the look in her eyes as of a shadow covering the light the shone from within.

"Timuinel. What is the matter? We are celebrating." He looked into her eyes and said more gently, "Take your mind from this pretense of evil. It is but a dream: you are tired. Shall we go back to the caves?"

"No," she said. Where was her father? He had been sitting beside her.

"It is near the time of light above the trees. You should be tired. See, our people prepare to return," he insisted to her. He wanted to ask her questions, but he could see a stubborn look in her posture, and he did not dare. Timuinel was being scared by her dreams.

Timuinel looked around blankly. They returned to the caves? It had been that long? Yet she had only strove with him for a few minutes. Or was it more? She was unsure. It had felt as though time had stopped when it had happened, yet it seemed instead to have speeded up. She sighed.

"Yes, I am tired. You're right; it was just a dream. I fancy I must have fallen asleep." Saying it made it so. It had been a dream, it would pass when she had slept and eaten, both of which she had neglected. Yes, this cold that was in her stomach would be gone once she had slept. She got up and they went with their father and folk up to the carven rock dwelling.

* * *

Timuinel had not slept well. In fact, it would be better to say that she had not slept at all. Neither had she eaten. She had gone out early for a walk among the trees. When she did not return soon, Legolas went to his father and told him of her worries and what he had seen the night before.

"I think it is some small evil that affects her deeply after the death of her mother," he said. "She has probably gotten lost in her blind wandering. Let me look for her on horseback, and I'll bring her back soon. Then you can talk to her and help her, for she would not listen to me."

"Yes," the king responded quickly. "Go and bring her here that I may hold my little daughter and turn her mind from this."

Legolas left on Avorlûth. He was swift and trusty amongst the large roots of the trees. Out he sauntered, Legolas searching the forest he knew, and above the treetops the sun centered and then began its retreat, though the light did not penetrate so far beneath the foliage. When his son did not return, his father sent many men out after them. Perhaps she felt the presence of a stray band of orcs. But then, Legolas had a bow and sword, and Timuinel a sharp knife. Surely they were well protected?

Beneath the dark trees the men searched, and two came finally upon Legolas.

"I am still searching," he said, but now they could see he was worried.

"You must come back, for it is fey to be out in the darkness alone," pleaded one of the men, afraid for his lord. Was the world going insane? Why was Timuinel gone, and why was the king overly worried?

Legolas shook his head at the man's words. "No, I must find her. I must."

He looked off into the trees, and it was then that he spied her. He started. Surely, no, it could not be. Yet that was her young profile and the dark green of her raiment. He left no time to think. Through the trees he ran quickly, the men chasing after him, confused. What was this? Where was he going? They called to him but he did not respond, but ran on, up a steep hill to its summit, far outstripping them.

He saw her upon the hill, a knife poised. From the distance he had seen her eyes dark and still, her hands white, clutching the dagger. A few more steps and he would be at her, he was calling her; yet she did not hear. She was in another world: she did not know what her body did, for she was adrift in a sea of mist. A power was leading her away, and she knew she did not have the strength to fight back. Help, healing, was one step away, but it was too late. She died, his arms around her, his weeping in her deaf ears and his tears falling upon her, but she died without knowledge of his presence.

The two Elves came up then, panting in his wake, and stopped. What was this? Here she was, but with a blade deep in her chest. How could this have come to be? The others who had been sent by the king came up then, attracted by the great wailing that went up then from a brother bereft of his sister. They were lost, confused, unsure. They must get him away, and cover her to bring her back in reverence, but he held on to her tightly and they could not part him. They did not understand why or how. He did.

He knew without a doubt that her terror had increased in but one day at that great thing that was out there, that power she had spoken of. Her power she knew not how to wield, so that her spirit was trapped. She had wandered without sight and hearing, only knowing the voice that pounded in her head, leading her. But it had become too great a strain. In the end, she had not given in, but given up. Blind and deaf to her approaching brother, she now died in pain as he wept over her.

He would die now. His joy had died. His dear sister had died, and he could have saved her. Why had he not taken her more seriously? Why? And now she was dead. He knelt there still, unaware of whether days passed or only seconds. Then suddenly he looked up, his eyes dry. An anger and deep resentment welled up in him. Wordlessly he lifted her body up and turned to go. He strode through the trees looking solemn and malicious. The men, confused, brought a bier before him, and he placed her gently on in it in silence.

He placed a hand upon the knife and wrenched it out of her. A strong temptation to plunge it into himself rose up in him, but he laid it aside. His father would need him to bear this grief. He set his cloak over her, and the men lifted it. Mounting his horse, they made a slow, sad procession worming their way through the trees. When they came within view of the great stone gates, the watchers let out a wail at the sight of the dark faces and covered bier. So it was the king of Mirkwood heard and understood that she was dead, and was already weeping when they entered and placed the bier at his feet.

When the king saw that her body was indeed empty of her spirit, he ordered it burned, for she needed it no more. And under the great half dome at the entrance to his underground kingdom a bonfire was made of the dead wood that could be found. All stood with hoods pulled back, and the stars shone down through the trees there and a cold wind blew their laments and dirges into the forest. But Legolas stood hooded and cloaked so that his face was hidden. He said to the fire, "Hebo feä." Then he turned and strode into the caves as his people parted before him, cape billowing behind him and face covered in the darkness of his hood.

As he passed the great, gated arch, the watchman called to him, and opened a small side gate. An Elf dressed in armor and deeply wounded lay collapsed outside.

"Must there be so much death and pain?" said the prince. Kneeling by her, he found that she lived. He called to the watchman. "Bring a bier and help me carry her to a chamber." His tone was sharp with pain, and the man rushed off without asking questions.

Legolas followed the men who carried her in, now intent on work, for that numbed the pain if only for now. And he would not let another die before him also by wounds of the blade. He bid they who carried her follow him to a chamber where she could lie. He then sent them to fetch herbs for him. When the room was empty and silent, it seemed to him that his spirit felt something stir. For a moment the far sight of his sister touched him; he saw a great being suffering and malicious in the distance. But then the vision left him and the men returned.

On through the night he tended her, calling to her spirit for her eyes were vacant. An astounding fierceness had come upon him from his despair. The lady of healing Nestelleth came to help him and made him rest. When he had left, she checked and saw that all wounds were cleaned well.

Removing the girl's armor, she found that she was clothed richly as a lady. She dressed the bruising that had been covered. Legolas returned soon after, and sat calling her through her darkness and treating her with special mixtures of herbs, for he saw that her mind was dark with the poison of many arrows. He was High Elven and had power and skill, no less in healing. Within that night alone the lady was much healed. By morning she did not stir or cry out, but slept in peace. Legolas slept again, and returned, the fire unabated within him to do thus against that evil thing and for the memory of his sister.

Day and night he sat upon the edge of the bed and spoke in the high tongues, calling her. As yet he had no name by which to call her from her deep consciousness. He used herbs also, for her physical wounds. On the second day she called out and awoke. To her dark eyes the room came slowly. Long had she heard all that had passed, but it had seemed distant from her black place. First to come to her vision was he, bending over her. She cowered, but when he spoke a welcome, she recognized him as a lord of people akin to her own.

Nestelleth entered, and he stood and turned to the lady of healing.

"Nestelleth, you have come. The lady has awoken. See that food is made for her. Something to give her strength," he ordered. She bustled out again. Then he turned to the lady. It would be easier to question her without someone else to make her nervous also.

"I would not question you overlong, lady," he said softly, "but at least give me your name."

"I am Gwairiel, my lord. I come from the southern forests of Mirkwood near the Anduin. I thank you for your healing."

"Would we not help our kin so injured? But tell me, you come from the south? I would think you have been near to the evil fortress there to obtain such wounds. That place is danger. But tell me of yourself."

She took a deep breath and began, "I come from the same evil place as you say."

"Dol Guldur?"

"Do not name it!" She recoiled and for a moment the shadow of fear passed over her face again. "I do not know how this lord may say it; perhaps people freely speak the name here. But even though I am a warrior, I shall not name that shadow, for I have come from under its arms."

"Nay, my people also have fear of that place. Do you not know? You are in northern Mirkwood. I am Legolas, prince of this realm. That is why I may say the name without fear. But forgive me; I did not know."

"Is it so that I am healed by the great leader of your secluded country? I have heard of your people in whispers. They say you hide great secrets."

He laughed. "I am a lord, but not great, or hiding great things. We simply prefer to be left alone by men and evil. I did not know that there were elves in the southern forests. If this is so, how do you know of us? How did you come here? As far as I know, the forests of which you speak are uninhabited except for the rabble still hiding out in the dark fortress there."

"I come from the other side of the Anduin. I doubt you would know much us. I come from Fangorn, south of Lothlorien."

"It was rumored long ago that some from across the sea dwelt there."

"That is where we came from in the beginning. My family came down with the kin of Fëanor. That was before my memory. After The Wave, those left of us were forced east to escape men, and came to reside in that forest. After this newly ended battle, those left of our dwindling folk wandered in the lands. We came into this forest and roamed ever further, though away from that cursed place."

She paused as if thinking, then continued, "But it would seem that the orcs down there have gotten fiercer, and we had strayed too far. We were attacked one night; I was separated from the others. I…I..." she stopped, looking at him closely. "I was pursued many miles on foot. I think they thought they pursued many, and so followed me. I only know that one night I heard familiar singing, so coming to your great gate. After that, my memories are faded and unclear."

At that moment, Nestelleth returned, and now Legolas stood up. "I perceive there is more to your story, but that may be saved for a later time. For the time being, rest and regain your health."

"Thank you, my lord. I am in your debt."

Legolas left. By the end of the third day, Gwairiel had already regained much of her strength, and the next she rose to walk slowly on the top of the high wall with Nestelleth. This encircled a large court, which opened onto the well-carven caves of their dwelling. Nestelleth told her many things about the history of her people and their ways with the forest. Legolas did not come back to them, for he had other duties to attend to.

In the ensuing times, the prince of Mirkwood became busier. He was not able to speak to Gwairiel the next day, or for many more days. When the chaotic state of his duties subsided, the time seemed good once more and such things unimportant, though at times whilst he wandered alone in the forest he would consider all that had she had said. The days were happy, the years of men slipped by. Gwairiel dwelt long with them in joy and health.

But on a day, Aragorn of the Dunedain came up from the south, and with came a small, shrieking little creature, news from Mithrandir, and an odd request.


	4. Farodhel's Words

Legolas awoke from his dreams not suddenly, but finally, as though someone had gently called his name, yet there was no one there when he opened his eyes. Blinking, he rocked forward on his toes, his feet not weary despite the fact that he had been standing all night, as many Elves did when their minds wandered restfully in the state that man called sleep. He had meandered far last night, and far back into the past. And now he remembered that he must speak to Gwairiel. It was not as if he forgotten, but rather that he had felt called not to. She had been so happy, so peaceful. He had therefore decided it was best not to dig into the hurts of her past more deeply, not yet.

And it was not as if he were completely in the dark, either. He had guessed her heritage was of the Gwaihrim, that she was of higher blood—perhaps even a relation to their leader Teltir. He had met Teltir once, while planning for the battle against Sauron, and he had found him a kind but fiery man, wise but swift. Yes, he had guessed such things, but he wanted to know for sure, to hear the full tale. Now it was time to question her.

She had gone off directly when Aragorn brought them the news of the Council, though he waited for some days. He had expected to come on her quickly, yet was not surprised when he did not, thinking she had galloped on ahead. And she was a well-capable warrior who would not need help in keeping herself safe. But finding her behind him had worried him when he arrived, and then her sudden arrival almost dead in the saddle had made him vow to keep his eye on her. There was something about her that was very special, but evil seemed to be drawn to her unnaturally. What better time than now to hear her story?

He had long known that she was one of the Gwaihrim, descended of the Elenturi. Such descendants as she had powers over the elements, and some could even talk to plants and animals. All of this he had seen in Tinuinel, and it was now clear to him that what had taken her was now looking towards Gwairiel as prey. His guess was the Dark Lord. Ever had he hated those people and their heirs, close kin to Thingol and Mellian the Maia. They had been attacked constantly since first their lines came here.

The Elenturi, though powerful, wise, and noble, had Noldorin blood in them, and had joined with Feanor, greatest of Elves, but greatest in folly. They had seen the errors of such thinking in time—foolery cannot hold up long in the light of wisdom—and had all earned their ways back to Valinor through the great things done for the inhabitants of Arda.

But all their descendants were now under the same curse. The Elves had left Valinor for the dangerous middle land in order to take kingdoms for themselves. To gain passage back to Valinor required showing they had turned from their greedy, selfish desires. Without having cleared such a curse, being killed in battle, one's body fading and spirit being set free, dying from a broken heart, all presumably meant death: leaving to whatever mysterious place Iluvatar had prepared. Though the night before would seem to say differently, Legolas knew that Gwairiel did not fear death: she had the heart of a warrior, and few fears, perhaps only that of he who hunted her. She had other reasons for staying in Middle-earth, things that he was only now beginning to realize, and not with any clarity. And it was not as if her plight was hopeless: she could easily earn her way back.

He rounded a corner of the house and saw the twin sons of Elrond, deep in solemn conversation. They turned and fell silent as he approached. Both had the stern, fell look of their father in their dark eyes, and Elrohir's searched Legolas carefully.

"Mellonin," said he, nodding as Legolas approached. "The day is good."

"By your look it would seem that it is not," Legolas responded in the silvery flow of Eldarin speech.

"Do you not know why? But I will not betray the lady's trust," Elladan said. His meaning was clear, and the person of whom he spoke also obvious.

"She has already broken her tale to me," received Legolas, "but I had reason to talk with her also. Where is she, do you know?"

Elrohir responded, "Walking the terraces."

Legolas ducked his head and turned away, silently slipping out of sight in a few long strides. Elladan turned to his brother.

"I must check something," he said Elrohir, "but I shall see you in a minute."

He walked into the house, his strong, tall frame disappearing into the darkness. The sun had not yet risen. Elrohir knew what plagued his brother; memories and lurking thoughts that would not leave, save to make way for another of such kind. He knew that all related in some way to a song sung to him with few words, but much meandering of the chorus. His brother's eyes had betrayed it all to him, for they were twins, and read each other easily.

Since many thousands of years ago, Gwairiel had been a friend, a sister to them both. Elrond treated her almost as a daughter, and between her and Arwen there were no secrets. Part of this alliance may have come from her father being Lord of the Elves of Fangorn and so distant kin, part from her great powers similar to the Lord of the House's own might. She learned much from Elrond of her power.

She had been tested much since last Elrohir had seen her, yet such horror and sorrow could not have been foreseen. That she suffered greatly in mind, body and spirit was obvious, and there was no balm to heal her, simply comfort and love. Worse, there was no way to return to that first innocence they had shared as children. They were grown-up to be sure, mature and wiser, yet he had remained unchanged by the world, whereas her life was changed eternally. How do you pick up the threads of an old life? There are some things that time cannot mend. Some hurts that go too deep.

She had faced Sauron, but no more could he discover, though since such grievances pertained to that, perhaps they were better left hidden. He was sure, however, that no matter how painful it would be for his friend, her dealings with the Dark Lord would have to be disclosed and discussed in great detail at the council. And that would not help her mood much.

But there were other parts of her tale that would not be opened before the Council of Elrond. How had her parents, Lord and Lady of the Gwaihrim, come to the end in battle? What had occurred at Dol Guldur? What was this thing that was so terrifying, that she would not speak of but in song, and then only when she thought herself alone? True, Elladan had not been the intended audience, but he had been allowed the pleasure of knowing the detail of her journey. And though Legolas boasted of knowing the full truth, he was obviously oblivious to some part of her story also.

Almost unaware that he had moved, he found himself walking into the house after his brother. So many questions…

* * *

"No." The word dropped with such force and emotion that it might have been an explosion, yet it was quiet, even controlled.

"I have told you of all that passed between me and the Eye, things too deep to be comprehended. Will your mind never be satisfied?" Fear and anger mingled in Gwairiel's voice.

"There is much more to your tale. You told me only what has happened in these recent times, but I know there is more. You have not told me half of what plagues you. What happened in Dol Guldur?" Legolas' voice was quick and persuasive.

"You want only what will help you lead your people safely. And even were that not the case, you honestly think I could tell you?" Her words stung, but more than that, her tone. They were both hotheaded, and right now she was near the boiling point, to say nothing of the roiling inside of him and the charged air between them.

He regarded her a moment before responding, "If that was what I wanted, I could have easily had a full account when you first stumbled into my land. You have only told me what happened since we parted ways a month ago. Something happened before and I mean to know what. You told me last night that you were as good as dead, for your wounds run deep in your soul, and naught but Valinor from which you are still banned will heal you. Why? Is there something else you must do that hinders you? There is something very important that you have not told me. Do not pretend to hide behind a façade. What do you know of death that scares you?"

They were both breathing as though they had just fought sword to sword. Her eyes burned like the fires of Thangorodrim, and any sentiment harbored toward him vanished to the back of her heart. His words had cut deep, very deep. Beneath the hard façade were the wounds just as he had said, and his words made them burn. She turned her head away to hide her broken spirit, but he instantly knew the purport of his words.

"Gwairiel, listen to me—"

"No. You listen to me. I will tell you. But you will not say that again. Do you hear my words?"

"I am sorry," he said through gritted teeth. This was like lying down and letting an orc run you through, which the great warrior was by no means accustomed to.

She glared at him. "Do you know what dwells in Southern Mirkwood?" Without waiting for an answer, she continued. "Much more than orcs and spiders. There are twisted creatures and even some slaves, though the enemy has never taken many of those except to perfect the arts of his predecessor. But there is something more than this. A small thing of great power that had drawn my gaze east. As we bicker here, I can feel it writhing. A door."

A brief but deep silence followed these seemingly meaningless words.

"I can only guess that it was a device of Morgoth made when he saw his doom was near, or as a precaution in that event. He may be locked in the Outer Darkness, but we know he is not impotent. This doorway strengthens his power over his minion. It is a portal of sorts giving direct access to Morgoth for Sauron. I have no doubt he was straining against the bonds of the banishment of the Valar, laboring to break free and come in all his brooding power.

"It was on my return from the battles in what are now the Dead Marshes that we found our home destroyed and no survivors left behind. In mourning we traveled far and wide, the last remnant of our people, oblivious to where we were. It was a horrible existence to lead a people who had no hope and nothing to comfort them in their sorrow. I see now that Sauron anticipated us, and sent a small army to defeat us. We were…easily defeated. But I know the black tongues of the enemy, for such knowledge becomes useful, as it did then. Sauron had given direct orders for my capture, and the destruction of all the others. I was taken to…Dol Guldor and up a great tower there. The servants of Sauron were afraid, and shoved me into a room, bolting the door behind me, but never entering themselves.

"The room itself was bare metal, with a dark, square doorway in the center of the floor. I thought it would lead down to the room below, and looked into it, but through it I saw the stars. A great shadow came up and covered the lights, and an unmoving dread blew across me, such as I have never known. My words cannot tell you what it was like. He spoke to me, and questioned me, and I still cannot comprehend that feeling. Perhaps that is why I can say this to you. Had I been there with him, I would not be able to speak of the pain, but all he did, all he could do, was touch my heart, and that is numbing. That is why I can say this."

"And what did you tell him?" Legolas asked.

"Nothing that he can use against us, for I knew nothing then, not even much of Lord Elrond's power. But if I were to fall into his hands now, he would know all, for he does not need your permission to read your mind. It is like a great wave that sweeps you up and carries you with it, whether or not you struggle."

"And you speak of it without horror?" his anger was giving way to shock and pity.

"I speak of it with all pain!" she spat. She glared at him in agony, and he knew he had probed too deep. But before he could speak she said, "I am sorry."

"Why should you be? I am sorry for my words."

She spoke again, more calmly, "I cannot feel horror because its strength is beyond me. I do not know what to feel, for any emotion connected to an experience like that is too large to fit inside one person. Not but the power of Manwë and the Valar can have any hold on him."

Suddenly Legolas' eyes were locked on her and an odd expression crossed his face. "Come with me," he said gravely.

"What?" She asked, momentarily confused.

"There is something you must see. Something that will show you what to think." He turned, and she followed him down a dark hall.

* * *

Legolas had taken in her words but he was still in slight shock at her declaration. His mind was still clear, and the one thing it thought was _Oh, Iluvatar, no_. Of all the things to have happened, this was the worst. He might be the only one to know why, but he knew it with every fiber of his being, and right now each one was screaming.

He loved history and had read extensively of all that had passed before his time. Especially to come to his attention was the story of the Elenturi, and Powers of the Stars who were the predecessors of the Gwaihrim. They themselves were of high blood, descended from Fëanor the Great and Ergol the Wise, who hid amongst the starts when Morgoth tried to enlist his knowledge. Among Ergol's offspring were six brother and sisters bearing extraordinary power over the elements. The husbands and wives of the Elenturi were all also of high blood; each spouse was blessed by the alliance with each Elentur and came into full powers by a gift and miracle of the Valar. Then the trees still shone and the Noldor, of whom most of their blood came, were still happy in Valinor.

Then the revolt lead by Fëanor against the Valar was launched. The Elenturi had followed their kin, if only for the purpose of seeing Middle-earth for themselves and escaping the whisper of Morgoth. They were therefore under the curse with the rest of their folk, yet with the great things that ensued because of them, they soon were allowed passage back. After some while when they had tired of the world, they returned thence, though their children remained for some time following in their footsteps of power and goodness. And so the lines continued, a small clan of people of fabled power.

There were never many of them, yet number matters little in the face of real strength. Over the years their power became mixed and waned. Their powers tended toward that over the wind and sky, because of their original affinity with the stars. So they became the Gwaihrim, wind-folk. Through all the years, only one line had remained pure and strong, and it was destined that here from the line of Sulatur and Ilmron Feanimnor would come the Climax. A cousin of the Elentur Farodhel the Seer had made a prophecy that a child would be born from the pit of their power that would rise above all the rest and destroy the greatest evil of the child's time. She had also foreseen that this fight, though a victory, would destroy the child as well.

Perhaps Legolas' fear was not well founded, but his mind had been running away from him lately. Gwairiel had just said that her people were destroyed—they were at the pit of their power; she was the only one left. If Morgoth found a door to Middle-earth, he would find a way to break through the banishment that held him and enter, easily becoming the greatest evil of their time. Was Gwairiel, then the one destined to destroy him? To be destroyed by him?

He had to check, to know; in Lord Elrond's library was a record of all the history, every prophecy. Somewhere would be recorded the prophecy of Farodhel of the Climax. He would be reassured that it was not her. Yet everything pointed to it. But all of this was an overreaction from the loss of Timuinel. But in that case he had under-reacted…

He quickened his pace.


	5. Confusion on All Accounts

Confusion darted through Gwairiel's mind. She had told Legolas the worst of her tale (though, she admitted to herself, she still had not told him all). She had seen the horror register on his face, as she knew it would, but then something else had clouded his brow, a spark light in his eye. She ran quickly to catch up with him as he swept through the halls.

"Legolas," she called to the fast-retreating figure, "where are you leading me?"

Legolas did not answer for a moment, going round a corner ahead of her. She rushed around the corner and almost walked into him. He opened the door to the library and walked in, motioning for her to follow. It was darkly lit by and eerie blue light issuing from the other side of the cavernous hall, shadowy fingers enveloping them as Legolas closed the door with an echoing click. No dust touched the leather covers, and the room was touched with an almost menacing sense of power. It was as though anything could happen here. So much knowledge was held in this room, knowledge to fill the millions of books, knowledge to take an age to read. No one, save perhaps Elrond, had ever read all of them.

Legolas pulled her around to face him. He looked intense and alive, contrast to the dead look that had haunted his eyes before; he looked almost angry, yet sad as well, and his overall appearance could be described as solemn, though many more emotions were betrayed in his glance. She was about to ask him what was going on, her eyes not hiding the confusion and doubt, but he cut in, "Do you know of the prophecy of Farodhel?

She knew instantly what he was talking about. She turned and walked between two rows of bookcases, reaching up to the dark ceiling hidden in the dark gloom of the room. She looked back, and her eyes haunted him with memories. Her whole figure stood tall, yet betrayed the bending spirit within; her eyes were open wide, and deep shadows were cast across her face from the small shaded blue lamp above the door.

"Legolas," she said hesitantly, her tone altered almost as though she wished to give comfort. "You must understand—"

"It is you, isn't it?" he interjected. "You did not tell me this before because you did not want to hurt me. You did not want to reveal that you would have to die. That this war would kill you."

"Legolas…" Her voice broke and against her will a tear slid down her cheek.

But Legolas did not heed her. He continued, "You hid this thing from me. Why, why? What drove you to hurt me like this? To hurt all of us? Why must this be? You will face him and you will defeat him, but you shall die. What consolation have I? That you shall be victorious? That Morgoth shall be destroyed? I have begun to look to you as a close friend, as a sister. Gwairiel, you cannot do this. You cannot do this to me, to us, to all of us who have cared for you."

Gwairiel stared into his eyes, then turned her head away quickly. Feeling for the doorknob behind her, she opened the door and flung herself out into the corridor, slamming the door behind her. Legolas stood, rooted to the spot as the door banged behind her. She stood, breathing hard for a minute, then turned and ran up the passage to the terraces. When she reached the balcony where they had stood before she slowed, and walked up tothe rail.

Legolas was right, he was always right. She should have told them. For the first time she realized how many people would miss her if she did die the death of Men. Arwen, Elladan, Elrohir, Nestelleth, Aragorn, Glorfindel, and many others who had been her friends for many long years would mourn her seemingly sudden and illogical parting. Only Elrond knew that she would die; and now Legolas.

For the second time in as many days she was crying; she rebuked herself softly. What was coming over her? Why was she becoming so emotional? She was not afraid of death; at least she didn't used to be, not even the death of Men, where she knew not where her spirit would go. It was another adventure to embark upon, another plain to cross, another mountain to climb. But lately death had seemed more and more distasteful, and she could not devise why. There was a spark inside her, a hope for a certain future that she could neither quell nor ignore. Something burned in her heart, a new feeling that she had never felt before, something that both scared and invigorated her.

Her head felt heavy and weariness ached in her core. She leaned against the banister and let her mind wander far off in visions of the past. Images flashed before her mind, memories of hidden past.

She was back in the great war, leading her warriors forward. She could see her father leading a troop down the middle as she lead her own up the west flank. Before her the battle raged with shouts and bursts of fire. This is what she lived for. She could feel her blood boiling, exhilaration rushing up through her again. The passion of her people took her and she ran, outstripping her men as she went to meet her foe. With a clash of metal she was in the fray, fighting for honor and valor and all goodness.

Then her mind moved ahead, speeding the vision as she saw herself three thousand years before. She saw her father cut off from the rest of his men, and then lost sight of him in the fray. Her mother was with him also, and some men from their house. A burning welled up in her as she strained against the many that came between her and her family. On the terrace, Gwairiel heaved a dry sob knowing what came after because of this, but her mind darkened and the vision moved on.

Now she walked with the rest of her people. There were quite fewer now, though each had been traded for thousands of Sauron's own servants. Scouts were sent ahead to Fangorn to alert those left behind to their coming, but to the bewilderment of the captains, the scouts returned, and their tidings were not good. The city was ransacked and deserted. No bodies lay about to betray slaughter, but the homes had been plundered and crude markings as of orcs had been left behind. The people mourned all the more, and Gwairiel had decided not to return to the ruin. What is a home without family?

But now they were dwindling, diminishing. The words told to Gwairiel in her youth now seemed more applicable as the power of her people waned. They wandered into Southern Mirkwood. At first they mourned, then their mood turned to wariness and they left themselves to exile in the foreign land. Nowhere seemed home, yet home was not home without family. Gwairiel's own had long been mourned over: the loss of their Lord and Lady. And now it was left to her to guide them, though she was weary of the evil in the world.

Memories of Imladris and the children of Elrond, friends to her in her youth when she had traveled there often with her mother filled her mind, but she was a leader of several hundred people now. They wandered farther and farther; slowly their camps moved closer to the threatening shadow of Dol Guldur, yet they did not leave the dangerous southern edges, for they were still miles from the hated fortress. And then, least expected, they were attacked.

From a distance, Gwairiel watched the orcs pour down upon her and her people. Though fey and unprepared, they fought bravely and hard. But she could see a circle forming around herself, and could hear their tongues speak in the Black Speech to surround her. They wanted her; Sauron was coming for her. As they closed in, hundreds upon hundred bearing down upon her, she lifted up her sword, and in one last effort summoned her power and cried out to the heavens. All those who were near paused for a moment, and then from the clouds above shot a streak of purple fire, a bolt of lightning rending the skies apart.

In the halls of Thranduil, they looked out and saw the light glowing, even miles south of them, and thought a storm passed there. And indeed one did, in a sense. The fire came down and swept around her, burning all those standing thus by, though Gwairiel controlled the flames with her bare hands. But such a glorious display revealed what was in her, and assured the one that searched for her that she was indeed the one he sought. Sauron looked out from his brooding darkness and fought with her, and in that moment they struggled together. Her identity revealed, she fought him, one to one, but the orcs pressed in around her, and many foes shut her in.

Slowly strength went from her, though she stood there long. The orcs stood by, not getting too near, but waiting. And the force of her might waned as she grew weary, and Sauron, guided by the whispers of his master, captured her spirit. His servants drew in around and captured her body, now almost lifeless, and took her to the dreaded tower of Dol Guldur, trampling the bodies of the last of her kin as they went.

Again, her body leaning against the balustrade leapt in the pain of her memories. Still the visions continued, flashing images of the door and her torment with Morgoth, then as she was released, and she dragged herself through the forest. There her visions halted, and her mind wandered in search of an answer as to why she was released, why he did not sap her power from her and kill her. This had been ever nagging, though perhaps he knew of the prophecy, and did not dare take her power for fear of his own destruction. But this was Morgoth, who feared nothing, once the greatest being in Arda. Or perhaps it was that he could not do this from behind his door, perhaps the banishment held more power than she thought. But why had Sauron also let her go? They were waiting for something, they needed her for something more that she could give them.

Again time moved, and now she saw herself on a horse racing down from Thranduil's kingdom through Mirkwood. She sought the Gap of Rohan, for the Hithaeglir were no longer safe to cross, especially alone. Avorlúth carried her far down through the familiar woods of Fangorn. As from above, she watched her past image ride down close to the place that had been her home almost three thousand years before. And there, just as she knew them to be, were the orcs. She wanted to shut out the memories and not see, but at the same time curiosity peaked in her to see the poor figure again. There he was, a bare, smooth hide amidst the rough ones around him. As she looked closer into his face, her body jumped and gave a small scream, as she saw again the face of her father.

Then slowly the visions faded, leaving her all alone on the terrace.

* * *

Legolas stood staring at the door. His eyes were empty but for a small betraying sparkle, but at least no anger showed on his face anymore. No, the anger had left him with the slamming of the door. It was not true malice that he held towards her, but deep concern, and even an odd sort of fear. He did not understand the feeling, but it was too strong to ignore, and haunted the back of his mind, when it did not occupy the front. It was an odd thing, this feeling; like joy and a longing to embrace all who were near, but sad, as though the core his heart was gone and all inside had turned to tears. A nostalgia, crying smiles, weeping laughter. The way he had often felt for his dear sister Timuinel, but this was different, the same feeling coming from a different place.

He sighed and shook his head. It did no good to puzzle over these matters, for he got nowhere trying to discover the secrets of his heart. It was his own heart, true, but the deepest corners were still kept from his conscious mind by the bold face of denial. The only thing he could do was look at the prophecy. It was the only thing he _wanted_ to do now; in Farodhel's words lay his last and only hope. He walked down the first row of books and ran his finger across the dry, stiff backs. Such memory and knowledge: there was so much to know in the world, and never enough time to find out what you needed to know.

Along the rows and rows he searched, seeking it all the while, every now and then pulling out a book to thumb through the pages and place it back upon the shelf. He did not keep track of time, though he searched long; but when the door opened he looked up in surprise, thinking Gwairiel had returned. He was even more surprised to see Elladan walk in. And by the look on Elladan's face, he too was startled.

There was an awkward silence for a moment, as though neither had wanted the other to know what he was doing. Then Elladan said unsurely, "Oh, I just came to replace a book…"

He tried to side-step into the next row, but Legolas followed him. "What book, pray? I have been searching for a certain book for several hours now. Perhaps that is the one that I seek."

Elladan handed him the book, looking away. Reading the cover, _Little-known Prophecies, Second Age_, Legolas leaned it against a shelf, and the book fell open. He glanced at the page, then back up at Elladan, who was looking at him apprehensively.

"We are hear on common purpose, I see." That was all he said. Then he looked down at the prophecy. Elladan watched him.

It read:

Prophecy by Farodhel of the Climax, Heard by Gontur and Ilmron Feanimnor

_A time shall come when your people are failing,_

_When their power is waning _

_But one shall remain, one and one only _

_Powerful as not before _

_When their power is drained she shall rise to be first _

_And defeat the enemy at hand _

_Greatest he is, of their enemies then _

_But destroyed by her hand after very long fight _

_Shut out to the darkness beyond _

_But she shall meet her end through him _

_And ne'er return the peace then before. _

He read it through several times, then turned back to Elladan. "Then it is true."

Elladan nodded. "Last night she stood upon the terrace singing, and though there were few words, I perceived much more from the tone of her music. She would not speak of it to me, and I know I was not intended to be an audience, but she did not hinder me from hearing it. I came here this morning to see if I was right. She is the Climax."

"Yes," Legolas agreed, "that much is clear. _But she shall meet her end through him, and ne'er return to the peace then before._ It is a sad thing that will rip away the life of one so beloved and so strong."

"Wherever there is Morgoth, there is sadness." He looked at Legolas and their eyes met. "She does not want to die. Something is keeping her here…something great draws her in, and chains her to this Middle-earth. Her parting shall be most painful for her, I think."

"Who would want to die the death of Men?" Legolas asked, turning and walking quickly for the door.

"She does not fear death," Elladan said, and Legolas stopped. "I have known her since before the War; we played together as children and always was she brave and unafraid. There is something else out there that keeps her from embracing her fate as she always has. She is holding on to something, and I mean to know what, for she has changed. She continues to change."

Elladan swept past him, opened the door, and left. Legolas stared after him. The whole situation became more complicated with every word, every move he made. It was hard to grasp it, this death, the fact that she would not always be with them, for Elves do not die even when their spirits leave them. They went to the Undying Lands to the Halls of Mandos, and so death to them was but a journey. But when Men died, their spirits were taken from the bonds of Arda and the darkness beyond up to Iluvatar, to what place he had prepared for them. In this way, it was much more mysterious and final. The last two lines of the prophecy clawed around in his mind, hoping for escape but doing only damage in a painful rampage of his thoughts.

There was nothing to do, nothing to stop this oncoming tide of death. It would take her away, never to be seen by any of this world until its ending. He walked out into the corridor, closing the door behind him quietly. He looked both ways down the passage before turning left towards the northern terraces. There was only one thing to be done, and that was to make the most of these last days. The began tomorrow, and he knew that whatever was decided in this matter, Gwairiel would somehow be involved, for her story ran closely with that of The Ring.

An odd shadow haunted his face as his thoughts drifted. The day was peaceful, but that was of no help, for these days would soon come to a close, to be replaced by the shadow that was so intricately connected to Gwairiel. Prematurely this shadow began to settle on his heart, and his face betrayed the solemnity of his thought.


	6. The Plotting Pair

Elrohir paced through the halls, searching. No one seemed to be about. Elladan was being his usual closed self, and as usual, Elrohir was going to find out what it was and berate him for not confiding in him. Though, Elladan had been abnormally grave, so perhaps he would omit the scolding. Legolas also had been solemn, and he wondered what could possibly have gone wrong. His mind, so unlike his twin's, did not like analyzing, but ran through what he knew at top speed as he walked energetically through down the corridor. All Imladris seemed to have grown darker.

Elladan had never been good at lying to his twin; they read each other like a book, so neither could get away with much when they were together. Elladan had left the Hall of Fire last night, which meant that he knew something even then. He had said he would swiftly return, but when he did not, Elrohir set out quickly to find him. He had found him in their shared room, pacing up and down. He had mumbled about Gwairiel and a song, but seeing he was tired, Elrohir did not press him, and he soon slept. But more than that he did not know.

He looked around suddenly. He had walked through here a minute ago and seen no Elladan. He knew Imladris better even then Elrond due to the twins' mischievous escapades as elflings. Where could one elf hide? Remembering the library, he stalked quickly off down a right-hand hallway. Turning the corner at the end of it, he saw Elladan, pacing quickly towards him.

"I have been looking for you, gwador," he said.

"And I for you," said Elrohir, smiling. "Pray, where have you been hiding?"

"I have been in the library," Elladan replied. He glanced around almost nervously.

Elrohir saw immediately what was wrong. "What did you find out, gwador nin? What have you read?"

Elladan glanced around again. Elrohir pulled open a door and said impatiently, "Come. Now tell me what you know."

"I'm sorry I did not speak to you first, brother." Elrohir nodded forgiveness. "How much do you know about the Elenturi?"

"The ancestors of the Gwaihrim? Of course I know about them. Closely related to Ada, are they not? And old friends, I believe."

"Yes, but do you know about the prophecy of Farodhel?" Elrohir frowned blankly. He tried again, "Of the Climax?"

Comprehension dawned across his face as though a candle had been lit in small dark room. Elladan said no more, but Elrohir knew already the whole story.

"She must have sung of it last night then, and you were there. But what is this prophecy? What doom does it give?"

"When the power of the Gwaihrim fades, one shall keep their power, and rise up against the greatest evil of the time. She shall defeat him, but 'shall meet her end through him, and ne'er return the peace then before.' You know, as I do, what still resides in the Outer Darkness."

Elrohir nodded.

Elladan continued, "I can only see that he has found some door, some window to us. He cannot, of course, enter Middle-earth, not while the Valar keep it. But somehow his power can get through the portal, or even his gaze, for that is deadly."

"That conversation with Legolas! Before she awoke from her healing we spoke with Legolas and he told us how this happened before, when she came to his folk. She must have met Morgoth then."

"Yes, that is what I was thinking. And then again on her way here. He is tracking her. The Eye of Sauron, minion of Morgoth, is ever watchful. Having found her, it will search for her."

"But," said Elrohir, perplexed, "I do not feel his spirit, nor do you. We would know if his sight dwelt here, for there is much else he would gaze upon if his glance came here."

"When Ada healed her he doubtless wrestled her from his gaze. You know the power that runs in him, and the power of his ring. With Vilya he has power to contest Sauron himself."

Elrohir nodded, mulling it over in his mind. Then he said slowly, "But she is not afraid of death."

"I know," said Elladan impatiently, "but she still does not wish to face this fate."

"You wish to know why."

"Naturally." Something like a smile twitched at the corners of Elladan's lips. This felt like their youth again, when they would slink around the great house trying to discover what Glorfindel and Erestor spoke of, or taking a horse and exploring the Trollshaws alone. Most who did not know them would think that Elrohir, energetic and curious, was the one in trouble and that Elladan, thoughtful and calculating, was more mature. But the two rarely went anywhere without the other; if one was in on something, you could be sure the other was too.

He looked up at Elrohir.

"Where do you propose we start?" asked the younger twin. "I would think with Gwairiel."

"No," replied Elladan slowly, "she will have to tell quite a bit at the council in an hour or so. But what do you think?"

"That…" he broke off chuckling.

"This isn't funny, Elrohir," Elladan said, half serious, half smiling.

Elrohir turned to his brother, an odd smirk of dawning understanding on his face. He had the old glint in his eye, which slightly scared Elladan, wondering what Elrohir was thinking. He looked up at the ceiling still smiling and said something that made Elladan frowned.

"No," he said in disbelief. "We would have known. Don't you think she would tell her brothers?"

"Maybe not," Elrohir said pointedly, "she didn't talk to you last night, remember?"

"We should talk to Legolas, he may know more about all of this," Elladan said, desperate to get his twin thinking of something else.

"They are very close, aren't they," Elrohir stated with an appraising look. Elladan sighed exasperatedly.

"Elrohir, think about what you are saying. You were always a person to think this way…"

"Not always. But I am usually right, am I not? Like with Arwen—"

Elladan interrupted him quickly. That was a touchy subject in the family right now. "No, Elrohir. It is not possible."

You know too it is very possible. Think how she would see the matter."

"_I_ am currently thinking through Legolas' eyes." He sighed. "And I see that you have a point. A small point, but a point."

Elrohir laughed. "I knew you would come round there in the end."

"But we must be careful. Such matters must be tread upon lightly. And no plotting," he added quickly, seeing the hungry look come into his brother's eyes.

"Don't worry, gwador. I shall tread with the feet of Elves." They both laughed. Despite being an Elf, treading lightly on matters like these came difficult for him. For Elladan too, for that matter.

"Alright then. Shall we split up? Take different people and compile our findings?" He was smiling broadly now. This was what he loved; making mischief with his brother.

Elrohir nodded. "We'll start with this matter, since it seems like the one on everyone's mind. But such a delicate thing as this should not be interrupted long by the harsh grindings of fate."

"Yes," Elladan suddenly turned grave. "Though it shall be hard to escape this doom. And the council is today. It shall be on everyone's heart, so do not be do rough."

Elrohir nodded mutely. He understood what Elladan meant, and despite his light-hearted words felt the weight of caution and responsibility. This was a precious matter, capable of bringing many together and breaking many apart.

"Where is he?" He asked solemnly.

"The Library," responded his twin.

And they left.


	7. All Five of Them

Gwairiel stood, her back against the cold stone. Clouds were roiling overhead and thunder echoed. It covered the morning sun as it slowly rose, wishing it could peak out its bright head and light the sad house. Or it seemed sad. Darkness crept through the corridors, and the Elves were quiet. A time for death, Gwairiel thought dully.

Seeing her father in her visions had not been the greatest help to her morale. He was probably dead too: he would never succumb to the evil. So she would go and join him some day, and be able to hear him say well done, hear his comforting words. No, she reminded herself, he had done many great deeds, and had made himself worthy of passage to Valinor. If only she could also do this, if only she could do something to earn the right to return to the homeland she had never known.

But Morgoth was far more powerful than she; he and Sauron had not released her for nothing. They had some plan that needed her, and she had no power to deter them. Somehow, she would destroy Morgoth, but she would die in the attempt. And really die, not go to the Undying Lands. She didn't mind dying; pain she could endure, for everyone has pain in their lives. But she could not leave… She turned her thoughts away, and instead listened to the fast approaching footstep, her mind still wondering what Morgoth's plan was.

Elladan came around the corner. She nodded to him as he passed, but he came over to her.

"How are you?" he asked kindly.

"I am well. And you?" But Elladan was frowning at her.

"You are not well, mellonin, do not lie."

"Why have you come?" she asked, turning back and looking out over the forest.

"Gwairiel," he said in a patronizing voice. "Come now. Remember when we used to play as elflings? You never held things back then. What has wrought this change in you?"

"Do you not know?" she asked, looking at him seriously and, she thought thankfully, not crying. "I know you heard me last night when the Hall of Fire emptied. Surely you can fit things together. And I know your mind will not rest until you know all." A small smile played around the edges of her mouth. "What have you and Elrohir plotted this time?"

Elladan smiled. She knew them almost as well as Arwen did. "To resolve this issue and make you happy again." She turned away, the smile gone again. "Gwairiel, do not do this, do not shut out the people who care for you. Remember, you are at the house of Elrond. You _will_ find healing here."

"I have gotten all the healing that is possible. The rest of this is my task. This is my load to bear," she looked at him seriously. This was the Gwairiel he knew, always resigned to whatever came upon her, always ready. But there was still that something, that small thing that Elrohir had noticed.

"But there is still hope." He spoke more for himself than for her, but he felt this had to be true. There was always hope.

"Where?" She asked, though her tone was not accusatory as it had been with Legolas. Fey, that was the word to describe her now. "I am of the Gwaihrim, which as you know means I must earn my way back to Valinor. I am Noldorin blood. I will die not having stood the test of temptation; not having shown I can stand through the enticement of power and kingdoms that first ensnared the Noldor."

Elladan's mind suddenly jammed, as it always did when it came upon a fairly obvious solution to a life-and-death problem. "That is it," he whispered to himself.

Gwairiel looked up.

"What is what?"

"There is hope. There is a way."

"What?" she asked with a criticizing note in her voice, though her face was lit with an eager light.

"It…yes, and…" Elladan was still talking to himself.

"Elladan, but tell me what you know!"

"We must find Legolas and Elrohir!" he said quickly.

"I do not know where—"

"They are in the library. Follow me. Quickly!" And he dashed off, Gwairiel once again trekking confusedly towards Elrond's library, fast on his heels. She wondered also how he knew where they were…of course, he and Elrohir were probably planning something to find out the truth of the whole matter. But what was this hope?

* * *

Elrohir walked up to the library door and pushed it open. Legolas was sitting in a chair against the wall, a book propped open in his lap. As he neared he saw Legolas' eyes did no move across the page. The blonde elf did not stir as he approached until he said his name, "Legolas."

Legolas looked up, obviously trying (and failing) to act normal. "Elrohir. How are you?"

"I, mellonin, am fine. You, however, are not, and that is why I came to talk to you."

If Legolas was startled by this unabashed proclamation, he did not show it. Of course, most people had gotten used to Elrohir's way of not beating around the bush like his brother. Elladan would pretend he did not know what you were talking about to coax the truth out of you; it was, admittedly, more gentle, but it was good to be open and quick sometimes.

"Me?" he asked in mild surprise, still trying to act casual.

"Yes, you. Do not lie, mellonin, I can see it in your eyes." Elrohir decided to get straight to the point; quicker than usual, that is. "So, what is wrong? Tell me your troubles."

It is a mark of how much Legolas' thoughts were so in turmoil that he spoke without question. Elrohir had prepared for Legolas to be, as usual, stubborn, and was quite surprised when he spoke, "You know by now of Gwairiel?"

Elrohir nodded.

"Of her death?"

Elrohir nodded again, wondering where this was leading, and thinking he already knew at the same time. But he stayed quiet, waiting.

"Then you bear it well, for I know you know her as well as I do."

The brevity of this statement took Elrohir slightly off guard, but he answered, "I know that against fate there is no force. Prophecies are not warnings on how to change, simply a picture of what is ahead. But I also know that friendship is the strongest bond of life. Neither my brother nor I will let her, so like a sister, die without aid. If we cannot change fate, let us at least ease the passing and lighten the time. There is no hope for life, but there is hope for the love of strong friendship. Such a thing cannot be broken by time or space, even death."

The speech was by no means heartening, but it had a profound affect upon Legolas. "You are right, mellonin. If we cannot change time, let us at least make the best of it. I am sorry; I despair easily as you see."

Elrohir smiled. "Death and parting hit you at a young age, for did not your mother sail when you were still young? My own parted when I was quite a bit older. But I understand the bitterness of parting. And for you this must be especially hard."

Legolas shot him a quizzical look, but did not ask. "Shall—"

But he was interrupted as the library door banged open and Elladan followed quickly by Gwairiel spilled into the room.

* * *

Elrond paced his study quietly. There were so many things to be done. Gandalf stood in the corner, gazing down into the courtyard. Very soon he would go down and call the council, but for a small while the two stayed to talk. Two great powers were in this room, and the air was charged with their thoughts. Important matters were at stake, and they were looking to for the right decision. But as always, that decision needed thought; and this time the choice was very much harder to make.

But they had discussed all of this over and over for several days now, and Elrond could see but one conclusion. And though one sliver of hope remained, the end seemed dark. And much more was troubling him, things that seemed trivial compared to Morgoth and the Ring of Power. But love is the breath and life of a father, love for his children. He only hoped that they would survive this. All three of them. And there were two other young elves whose fates, though one of them did not know it, rested in these matters. All five of them.


	8. The Council of Elrond

**Author's note:** I just had to put in this chapter, even though everyone knows what happens. Selected phrases and sentences have been taken from J. R. R. Tolkien's book The Fellowship of the Ring, from the chapter titled The Council of Elrond (duh!). It has been used only for the more minor characters, or where Tolkien's words seemed most precious. Be forewarned, therefore, that not all of this is my writing!

A bell rang in the distance, a summons to a council of doom and war. From the doors of Elrond's library came the Prince of Mirkwood, the Lady of the Gwaihrim, and the sons of Elrond. They joined others, and the council assembled, ready to hear and decide the fates of all those of their age, and the ages to come. Grave were all who entered, but as the Lord Elrond sat before them, four faces shown bright to him, the four who had exited the library. Something smug as of suppressed glee was gleaming in Elladan's eyes, but this was a small worry compared to the matters now at hand.

A small man reaching barely three and half feet came to the council last, following Bilbo of whose folk he must be, and Gandalf the Istar. He sat nervously as the voice of Elrond Peredhil rang out:

"This is the hobbit Frodo son Drogo. Few have come here under greater peril or on an errand as great."

Besides Frodo sat the dwarves Gimli and Gloin, and then Glorfindel, Erestor, and the counsellors of Elrond's house, with Galdor from the Grey Havens. Then sat Legolas, messenger and prince of Thranduil, King of Northern Mirkwood. Along sat Elladan and Elrohir, Boromir from Gondor, Gwairiel of the Gwaihrim, and Aragorn of the Rangers.

When all had been acknowledged, the discussion instantly turned to the Ring. Elrond and Gandalf had much to say, and they spoke long telling of the Ring of Power and its history. Then, to the surprise of some, the tale was taken up by the hobbits Bilbo and Frodo. Gandalf also spoke of Saruman and the creature Gollum, but on that account Legolas told that he had escaped. When all this had been said, Elrond spoke again.

"Before we discuss the fate of this Ring, another matter must be discussed, one which shall have influence over it." He turned gravely to Gwairiel. "For an account of this, I turn to Gwairiel, Lady of the Gwaihrim."

All turned towards her, but three in surprise. Her strength of will was returning fast, and she needed no one to recount for her this tale. The old recklessness that the twins knew of her was returning as she thought of the solution of Elladan, and she was ready to narrate her dealings with Morgoth.

She explained how she had revealed the power of the Gwaihrim and fought with Sauron before being taken captive by his orcs and led before Morgoth to be interrogated. She related her torture there, and her sudden release. At this, some frowned, and Gandalf turned to stare pointedly at Elrond, but none spoke.

She then told of how she had set out for Rivendell weeks before, passing through her old home Fangorn, now grown wild, and of how she came upon the elves being made into orcs, and one that had not changed. She continued to tell of her blunder of wrath, Sauron's renewed gaze upon her, and her ride to Rivendell in darkness.

"It seemed clear, then, that he sought to destroy me, for my uses seemed to be gone. He used dark powers to take from me my powers, and but for Lord Elrond's healing, would have succeeded." She bowed to him and, finished, sat down.

Silence followed, broken by Glorfindel.

"I know something of this matter of Morgoth beyond what has been told here. I know no reason for Morgoth to release Lady Gwairiel as he did, but it is obvious he had some plan. I think we may find from the fact that Sauron was confident to take away the power of one who I know to be pureblood of the Gwaihrim that something has happened to increase Morgoth's power in this world."

Silence once again greeted these words, but this was not the quiet of brooding, but an uneasy pause for thought.

"I believe, Glorfindel, that your thoughts may come to be correct," said Lord Elrond. He paused a moment then said in a ringing voice, "We have now come to the point of decision. Two matters, so entwined, must be discussed here. What is to become of the Ring of Power? For were it in the hands of Sauron, his power would be great and terrible, and doubtless he would release Morgoth from his place in the Outer Darkness, a minion of lesser powers answering to him. They must be parted.

"But we must also consider what is to be done of this door, for it cannot remain. Yet I foresee no way of destroying without some great fight with Morgoth, and none may attempt that, for he is a match for the Valar. Here lie our paths: to destroy the Ring of Power, or to hide it. And from there, we must decide to destroy the door to Morgoth, or to trust that destruction of the Ring will disable any help that could unleash him from his banishment."

It was Erestor who spoke first. "One thing stood out clearly to me from the tale of Frodo. Tom Bombadil is one we call Iarwain Ben-adar, also called Forn and Orald. It seems he has power even over the Ring."

"Or rather, the Ring has no power over him," said Gandalf. "He himself has no power to alter or break it, and he has now withdrawn into his own bounds that he will not cross."

"But would he not take the Ring within those bounds, forever harmless?" pressed Erestor.

"Not willingly, and as it has no hold over him, he would be a most unsafe guardian. He would likely forget it or lose it."

"Either way," spoke Glorfindel, "is simply postponing the day of evil. By some spy or whispered word would the Lord of the Rings here of the Ring being there, and the Dark Lord would bend all his power to that place. And he would fall, last of all, and the land would then be covered in darkness. And from there, we can only guess that the two great powers would once again storm the Undying Lands."

"I do not know much of Iarwain," said Galdor, "But Glorfindel is right. Power to defy our enemy is not in him. The only power that lies with us is here, in Imladris, and in Lothlorien and the Grey Havens. But is there strength even there to stave off doom when all else is destroyed?"

"There is not the strength here," said Elrond quietly, "nor in those places that you name."

"Then it lies only for us to destroy it or take it over the sea," said Elrohir. He had known these would be their only options, but he had masked his impatience. They would come the conclusion in their own time, being not the children of Elrond as he was. _The son of the wisest elf upon Arda_, he thought, suddenly realizing the privilege of his heritage.

He glanced up at his father. His brow was slightly creased, but he had already decided what he desired to do, for though it seemed hopeless, it was all that was left to do. He looked up at Elrohir and gave a slight smile. Meanwhile, Erestor began again.

"But Gandalf has told us that it cannot be unmade by any power here."

"And," added Glorfindel, "it would not be welcomed across the sea, for it is the burden of those who are here. There is one option that I see, and that is to cast it into the deep of the sea."

"The lands change, and what is a sea now may be a field later. How far in the future it should happen we do not know either." Gandalf breathed in deeply, as though about to say something he had wanted to say since the beginning. "There is only one option, then, left open to us. To flee is not possible, to hide it not lasting. We must unmake it. And for that we must walk into peril. We must send the Ring to the Fires of Orodruin."

Even the birds fell quiet, and it seemed as though a shadow passed over the house. Boromir's brow was furrowed, and he shifted in his seat.

"Saruman was a traitor," he said slowly, "but did he not see some wisdom? Could we not use the Ring against the Dark Lord? That is what he most fears. Perhaps the Ring has come to us for that very purpose. The men of Gondor are valiant and shall never submit. Take it and go forth to victory!"

"None can wield it," said Elrond, "Sauron made it; it answers to him only. Only those who have a great strength already may wield it, but for them the danger is greater. Think of Saruman: the Ring corrupts the heart. I would not take this Ring."

"Nor I," said Gandalf.

"But surely there are other rings?" Gimli spoke for the first time. "The seven are lost to us, but what of the three? I see Elven Lords here; do they keep them? Surely the three do not sit idle."

Elladan twitched in his seat. His impatience with dwarves spoke out suddenly, "Of them none shall speak, nor would any wish to. Sauron did not touch them, but they were never meant to destroy him either. They were meant as tools of peace, not war. And if Sauron regained the One, they would fall as the hearts that wield them are revealed to him."

"And if the One is destroyed? Surely that will impact them," said Gimli again.

"We do not know. It is thought that they would fail, and all the beautiful things they have made would wane." Elrond spoke, lament in his voice barely perceptible.

Erestor too seemed impatient to step away from these dangerous waters and get back to the issue at hand. "We come no closer to deciding the fate of the Ring. So far the only option that has stood is to destroy it in the Fires of Orodruin. How is that path more safe or hopeful than any other?"

"It is hopeful because there is a chance. And it is safe because that is what Sauron does not expect." Gwairiel had spoken for the first time since her tale. "Look around you. Do you not see those with the power to wield the Ring? Sauron will be looking for one to rise up and fight with him. He does not expect us to destroy it, so full of power. He overlooks the strength of those who can throw off temptation."

Glorfindel, who had sat in silence, now nodded and spoke again. "But it seems to me that there are still some things to decide. Who shall take this thing? And if we should fail, should we not at least work to destroy the door to Morgoth? Failing then would mean releasing only Sauron, and his Lord would not then have any way to return and storm the Undying Lands."

The council, Elrohir noticed, seemed prone to deep silence, and he could see why, for these were heavy matters. This time it was Frodo Baggins who broke it.

"I will take the Ring," he said, "though I do not know the way."


	9. To Die

Gwairiel walked along the terraces, smiling for the first time in a long while, speaking with Arwen. Elrond looked down on her from above, watching her heal, listening what Elladan told him. She was already healing from just the idea, but it what would come of it was more dangerous than he wanted to allow. And not just to her, but to Middle-earth. If Elladan had seen true, it would lighten these things greatly. And if his son were wrong? He already knew what would occur. He turned to Elladan.

"It is an interesting idea. I know what she will do as a result of it as well. But I will not let her go yet, for though her strength returns, she is not yet ready. And there is some that I could teach her first."

"But you agree it is not foolish?" asked Elladan, quickly.

"Oh, it is foolish to act upon, but that says little, for many things are. But there is one thing that I do not desire, that I will not permit."

Elrohir and Legolas stood by also, Elrohir looking intently at his father, Legolas looking down in the courtyard below. Elrohir, knowing what his father meant, interjected quickly, "Ada, you know we do not care for danger. We have fought great things, we are strong. And, we have been tested."

"I know. It is not that which grieves me." He looked down at the two figures below again, and his eyes strayed over his daughter. "My worry is for Arwen. You know, gwedeir nin, of what she suffers."

"I would not call it suffering, Ada…" Elrohir began, but Elrond held up his hand.

"The heart is vacillating and fickle. And she is more worthy than that. She is of the same blood as you, does that mean nothing to you? I want you here, to persuade her otherwise, for she listens closely to her older brothers. She is young, she does not know death."

"She is in love, Ada!" Elladan broke out as Elrohir made an exasperated and slightly angry noise.

"Or is she?" This silenced both the twins. "Does she love a man, or does she love what he may become?"

"My sister is not shallow," said Elladan coldly. Elrohir remained silent. He had never heard Elladan disrespect his father ever before.

"It is not a shallow thought. Yes, yes, I admit there is hope," added Elrond. "But that does not mean she is not giving up life. If he is crowned king and her dreams come true, will she not still die?"

Elladan glared at his father, but he could not defy that this was true. It had suddenly hit him, saying it like that. This is what Legolas had felt. Death. It was so permeating all of a sudden, pervading the very air, threatening to take the ones he loved. Like Celebrían his mother. Only she had not died, but gone to Valinor. He would see her someday, healed of the scars that had marred her. Well he remembered when he and Elrohir had gone and saved her. She was never again happy upon Middle-earth, and left for Valinor. Not death, though.

Elves. They were supposed to be immortal. But then he remembered Arwen, and the look on her face. He would do anything to make his little sister happy. She was in love, and should be allowed to make her own choice, even if it led to death. She would find enough happiness in the intervening years to overcome any terror of death or separation from her family. And she would always have Aragorn with her. If he was worthy enough to earn her love, then he was worthy enough to have her.

Legolas spoke out unexpectedly. Elladan jumped, having forgotten he was there.

"Death is so confusing. It divides. I do not think you would fear this if you also would die, but you shall not, but shall spend all the ages of Middle-earth in separation."

"That is far from comforting," said Elrohir rather wryly.

"Yes. But it is true."

"You feel, I think, our dilemma," said Elrond calmly and, Legolas thought, rather keenly.

Legolas nodded. "I think I would rather die like Men die," he said quietly.

"What?" burst out Elrohir. He glanced at Elladan, and saw surprise on his face as well.

"My sister is gone. Timuinel was of the Gwaihrim. She was not tested. She took her own life. She is gone." After a pause he continued, "I have lost her, and her mother who was like a mother to me, having lost my own to the Undying Lands ages before. Neither, I think, was ever tested. And there is Gwairiel also, another sister to me."

"But surely you trust that this plan will work?" asked Elrohir, keeping his voice calm above the pounding confusion as his world apparently fell about him.

"I trust it is a good plan. But like the matter of the Ring, despite the hope that we have, it is just a fool's hope. As Lord Elrond has said, it is both folly and hope. No, you should be glad the choice does not lie to me as it does to you."

The matter seemed closed, and after a few minutes Elrond turned back to his sons. "Everything is far from certain. Very well: I will let you go. Why should I keep you, when you so clearly want to go? I have a feeling you would work up something mischievous that would help you escape anyways. But be careful."

They both nodded. Solemnity seemed to hang in the air, and the left quietly, Legolas following.

Elrond looked down again. Arwen and Gwairiel still sat below, deep in talk. Both special to him, his daughter and the orphaned daughter of his close friend; both facing death. He had little hope in what Elladan had seen, but it seemed the only door. And he knew Gwairiel too well to think she would do anything but follow through on it. She would go and face Morgoth. He knew this: that was her way—to get to the heart of the matter quickly. But he had his doubts as to her strengths. He could remedy that, of course. Through Vilya he knew much of the powers of the wind, and he could teach her.

As for Arwen…he had raised her alone most of her years, having still been only a few hundred years old when her mother was attacked and sailed early for the Undying Lands. He would see her soon, he hoped, his dear Celebrían, and he hoped also to have their daughter by his side. Was this real love that kept her here? He wanted her to be happy, but he knew that the separation from her father and brothers would hurt her as much as it did them. If her love was strong, there was no reason to separate them. And it was not as though he doubted his adopted son. The fact was that there was very little hope for him to come to the throne entitled to him, and he would not let his daughter be a wild woman hiding away in some dark place. She was the granddaughter of both Eärendil and Elwing, and Celeborn and Galadriel. But the deciding matter was how strong her love was, a love which had not yet been tested.

And there were other matters to consider. He turned his mind to think of whom else to send with Frodo on his quest to Orodruin. Gandalf, of course. He supposed someone of the dwarves must be sent or they would be angered by the unfair representation. And besides the Ring, there was the decision concerning the door. They had decided to send some of greater power to scope out Dol Guldur, see how it might be done. Gwairiel would of course go, and he feared for her recklessness. He had hoped to send Gandalf, even to go himself, but the Ring was more important, as Sauron was currently the bigger threat, and he himself had other things to attend to…

* * *

The twins and Legolas had just entered the courtyard. Gwairiel and Arwen sat together talking quietly, but both smiling. Lord Elrond was right, he realized, Gwairiel's strength was returning quickly. With hope came healing.

The two ladies looked up as they strode forward. Arwen broke off as though what she said had been private. But Elrohir had heard a word of what she had said.

"Speaking of Aragorn," he asked, striding forward with a slight smirk.

"Yes," she said unashamedly, "he has returned, did you know?"

She was even better then her brothers. Legolas smiled. He caught Gwairiel's eye and they both looked away, grinning more broadly. Earlier that day they had been yelling at each other, he wondered, and now they were laughing together.

Elrohir knew she was not speaking fully, but nevertheless changed the subject. "So what brings you both here to talk?"

"Why would like to know?" Gwairiel asked, but she smiled. Elrohir was glad to see it; her health and hope returned, and her heart was healing. She was herself again, accepting her fate with readiness and an almost fey mood, laughing at danger. A reckless warrior, he reminded himself, but somehow very lucky to have never been run through yet. Of course, her fate was not to be killed by an orc…

Elladan had answered Gwairiel's question. "An older brother always watches over his sister, mellonin, and I believe you would fall under that category with Arwen."

"Speaking of whom," said Elrohir, looking at her, "Arwen, we were just talking to Ada. You might have come up."

He was trying to keep his voice casual, but his siblings and close friends saw through it directly.

Arwen regarded him a moment. "I am being careful; but in life and death situations, you must always follow your heart."

"Then why do you stick to this conviction of breaking everyone's hearts?"

"Elrohir, don't give her grief. Either way everyone is going to be hurt. With love comes pain. That is the way of life. And you are not helping the pain at all," said Gwairiel.

"Yes, my sister speaks for me," said Arwen. "But I don't wish to fight with you. This is my own choice I must make, and I will, with you in consideration."

"And our punishment," laughed Elladan. She laughed with him.

Elrond watched from above. There they were, his constant worries, three of them his children; one rather close to a human death. Some of the few Elves to be so. It was such an infatuation, death, so incomprehensible and mysterious, noble in a way, though Morgoth had long ago turned that into fear. And all of it wound up in this matter of the Ring. Would Aragorn deserve Arwen; would Elladan's trusting interpretation prove true; would anything happen that did not bring darkness along with joy?


	10. A Chat Between Friends

Aragorn had newly returned from scouting in the North when the council was called. As he had had little sleep the night before, preferring to spend the time with Arwen and the Elves in the Hall of Fire, the following evening had been planned for resting, but Legolas had much to tell him, and all of it things he wanted to hear, so he listened.

"I know you must be tired, Estel," said Legolas apologetically.

"I am," admitted the Man, "but that does not mean I don't want to hear the news. Tell me how things have been going here."

Legolas shook his head. "There have been many strange things. Many wild things which seem normal to me now, but which you shall find with surprise."

He laughed at the look of bewilderment on Aragorn's face. "You may well be confused when I am done, too, for I am not good at telling tales. You know of course of Gwairiel, the Elf of my own kingdom who arrived here soon after you did with the Halflings?"

Aragorn nodded.

"You heard also her tale at the Council of Elrond. But what was not told is her fate, which I and the sons of Elrond have discovered." A smile hinted on Aragorn's face, wondering what his adoptive brothers had been up to. Legolas saw the look and added quickly, "No, they have not been up to mischief for once. But this confuses me still. Gwairiel is the last of the Gwaihrim, and a prophecy has been made of her that speaks of her destroying the greatest evil of our time and being destroyed by it. She must pass the test of the Valar to enter Valinor, so her destruction now looms near."

"She is to destroy the Dark Lord?" wondered Aragorn.

"No; the Lord of the Rings is the greater threat, yes, but not the greater evil. Were Morgoth released, he would join his minion and have the strength to launch an attack on Valinor. And now she will be going in but a week to scope out the place around Dol Guldur where this door is hidden. Perhaps she shall end up destroying it, I do not know, but it shall be her ruin also. Death was spoken of in the prophecy, the death of Men, Aragorn."

Aragorn stared at him. "That is hard indeed…" he said haltingly, still confused.

"Yes." Legolas sighed heavily.

"Legolas," said Aragorn suddenly, almost reprovingly, "you have a place in your heart for her."

"Nay, Estel, you know love." Aragorn looked up quickly but said nothing; Legolas continued, "You can see this is not love. She is a sister to me; indeed, I feel almost guilty, for she fills the place where my sister Timuinel was."

"You feel as though you are rebounding from Timuinel's death?" asked Aragorn bluntly.

Legolas looked down and spoke in a low voice, "Yes. I came upon her in my mourning for my sister, and healed her where I could not heal Timuinel. I conquered the evil that was upon her when I could not conquer that which was upon my sister."

"Surely you do not blame yourself for Timuinel's death?" interjected Aragorn incredulously.

"No…" said Legolas slowly, "but then, had I been there for her as I should have been, she would not have seen fit to take her own life, she who had not passed the test as Gwairiel has not." Suddenly he remembered something from his talk with Elrond and his sons. The words burst from them before he could measure the purport and surprise. "Aragorn, I would die like you if I could if both my sister and Gwairiel must die."

Aragorn stared at him. Legolas never used his real name unless it was something grave. He was stunned. He put his hands on his friends shoulders and shook him slightly as he spoke.

"Legolas, your life is meant more than that. You are worth more than that! Do not stay in sorrow when you could have so much more. Thank Eru that choice is not yours to make. You are reckless."

Legolas pulled away from him, half angry, half ashamed. "Aragorn, you do not understand. You never had siblings, you cannot understand. When Timuinel died so did I, Aragorn. As an older brother my job was to make her happy, to see my father happy at her laughs. I was both friend and second father to her. You do not understand what it is like to be seen that way. And then to know that I could have kept her from death makes this all the worse. I would die if only to feel as she did and understand what I allowed."

"As punishment? Legolas, wake up! You could not have done any more for Timuinel. I have heard what you have said and I know every little detail of her death. She was under enchantment of Sauron, captive to his will and power, and could not have heard you, nor done anything if she could. You are in no way responsible for what happened to Timuinel; on that account I think there is none to blame but the Dark Lord himself."

Legolas took a deep breath. "Estel, I did not mean to scare you."

"Well you did a good job," said Aragorn waspishly. He added quickly, "I am sorry. I react strongly when my immortal friend tells me he wants to die."

Legolas gave a wry smile. "You know I forgive you. I could not have expected anything else. And I know," he added on sudden impulse, "that this topic is especially hard for you, who suffers under this cage of mortality."

Aragorn looked up at him with anguish and anxiety etched in the hard lines of his face. They both knew that they had changed topics, and knew exactly what topic they had switched to. "I would not have her stay here. She insists on remaining for me. She should go, she should leave for the Blessed Realm, blessed as she is. I am not worthy; I am no king. I am another Isildur. What have I done to deserve her?"

"You have been Aragorn Elessar son of Arathorn, heir of Númenor, noble and wise." Aragorn looked up and he saw he was smiling. "You are descended from her uncle, remember? That should be reason enough."

"But I am no king. I am a ranger, a Man. I am not trustworthy."

"If you speak of the temptations of your forefathers, then I must say I do not know what you are talking about. You, who have been with four unarmed hobbits carrying the Ring of Power, yet did not take it. Is that not feat enough to persuade you?"

Aragorn grinned suddenly. "You are right. However, I'm not the only one who needs persuading."

* * *

Elladan and Elrohir sat together in their father's library, pouring over the same book.

"So you are sure of this?" asked Elrohir again. He had heard hardly a word from his twin's mouth when he had perceived what he thought, and though he agreed, he did not weary of asking what Elladan thought.

"Yes, I am sure. I am sure it is right." He sounded slightly unsure, but both of them were. "It's the only bit of hope we have, so we might as well trust it."

Elrohir nodded. "All that is left is for you to test this. And for that, Gwairiel must destroy Morgoth as is prophesied."

"Destroy Morgoth…" The words sounded strange to Elladan as he said them, the idea of being unable to kill him so pressed upon them. Of course, they had also had to break the habit of thinking he was no longer a threat and that all Elves lived forever. It was quite a strange sensation to be knocking down truths that had stood for so long.

* * *

"Lord Elrond?" asked Gwairiel quietly, coming to his study and knocking softly on the door.

"Come in, Gwairiel," issued the voice behind, and she did so.

"You sent for me?"

"Yes. I have seen your health returning and though necessary to prepare you for what is too come. You must, of course, go with the small envoy to see what can be espied of happenings of Dol Guldur. It seems your fate do so; and it is your fate to fight with what lies there. I therefore want to prepare you as best as possible for it. The envoy sets out in a week, so I have that much time to teach you."

"What…?" she asked, but he put up his hand.

"You shall see. Follow me. We ride out into the forest. I want to teach you about your power."


	11. A Sliver of Hope

Elladan tightened the strap on the pack on his horse. He turned to look at Elrohir and read his mind: here it begins. But where does it end? This thought burned in them, they who had hope in Valinor, like a spark of excitement, smoldering in their heart until such a time came as they would quit this Middle-earth. Immortality was the scent on the wind, danger the road before them, and friendship holding true all the same. Both looked toward Gwairiel.

She was talking quietly to Legolas, too low for them to hear. Neither of the twins had relayed to her what Legolas had said the week before to them, and they did not think he had told her either.

Legolas was speaking, just out of earshot of the twins. "You are sure of this, then? You have spoken to Elrond of it?"

"Yes," she said exasperatedly. "Is this not our reason for travel? You do not trust Elladan's view, you do not take his hope."

"Gwairiel, you know I did not mean that way." He looked down at his hands and back again at her. "It is hope that you should hold onto. I do not wish for you to despair because of me."

She sighed. "You know I trust your judgment. If there is something you see that I have not, please tell me, before I espy Dol Guldur and meet who knows what fate."

"You are not so ready to trust Farodhel?" he asked, smiling. He frowned suddenly; "But you say the name of that place now. What change is this?"

"I saw no gain in fear. There is never gain in fear. Whether hope is warranted or not, it keeps you alive; and as long as I am alive, I shall fight against evil."

Legolas smiled. "You are healed. Back to your usual carelessness I see."

She blushed, but said, "You still have not answered my question."

He breathed in slowly. "I do not see any problem except that you are trusting in something as faulty as interpretation."

"But as you said, I am reckless," she said, a smile twitching around the corners of her mouth. When he opened his mouth to speak she interrupted, "Legolas, I have decided to go, so what else is there to say? Either I am set to die in both success and failure, or I am following a slim hope. So this is all that is left to do."

She turned and walked to her horse. "I shall see you, soon, hopefully. I do not know what all we shall accomplish, or even if we shall return. You are going with the Ring to Orodruin in some time, so it may happen that we shall never see each other again."

She bowed to him. "You are my lord, whether I join you in the Undying Lands or not. Daro mae; Farewell."

And feeling as though this good-bye was most unsatisfactory but not knowing what else to say, she mounted, and followed the twins out the gates and down the southern path, several others following with them, including Halbarad Dúnedan and Galdor of the Grey Havens. As they rounded a knoll and Imladris slipped out of sight, Gwairiel's mind sunk down into the depths of her memory.

She found herself suddenly reflecting on her despair, the glimmer of hope, and her strange keenness to trust to that hope. She was changing; she had not realized it before. The house that had just disappeared had been the place she had spent long parts of her childhood, where fearless young Gwairiel had fought imaginary dragons with the twins. And now it was the place where she had discovered her identity, where she had learned how to use her power, and where her heart still dwelt. It was the home of all the good things that remained of what she had once known.

And now where did she go: to certain battle and uncertain fate. This business of the prophecy was all so confusing to all of them—except apparently Elrond and the twins. The point of their expedition was to scope our Dol Guldur and see how the defenses stood. They would try to gain some news of this door, try to discover it's secrets. She did not have much hope in that. As Elrond had known, she planned to fight, and though she had little hope in overcoming, there was a destiny laid before her to fight evil, and so she would.

The little hope that had rekindled the fire in her was so small that she was still surprised that it had had so great an effect that it would be acted upon. Where it spoke of "But she shall meet her end through him, And ne'er return the peace then before" there was a loophole. Elladan had pointed out that meeting one's end didn't necessarily mean dying, it just meant quitting middle-earth, and never returning to the peace before could be the unrest that settled upon those who wanted to quit the middle lands. It was a small hope, but hope enough for her to take hold and summon up a determination that would get things accomplished.

This expedition had been a part of Elladan's tentative plan. For the only way to prove him right was by her facing Morgoth. She knew this just as well as the twins and Elrond. That was why Elrond had been so keen to teach her more about controlling her powers, honing and hiding them at will. And though what she faced was uncertainty and fear, she went ahead all the same. Perhaps it was her shame at her weakness (even though none could resist the power of Morgoth or of Sauron), or perhaps her old fey mood taking hold again. But whatever it was, it wavered slightly as Imladris drifted out of sight, and then stiffened again in resolution.


	12. Straying Paths

"Long and weary is the road

Na men anann

But ever onward shall we tread

Allim padatham

With hearts uplifted

Ah gûrgo garnen

Search for end

_Faram methen_."

The song rang out chilly and lithe in the cool night. Birds perched on branches above awakened and chirruped softly in reply. It was a language unknown to them now, but stirring some faint memory in them of the times when Elves and birds spoke fluently together. A score of strong Elven voices sang out strongly, mingling with one or two human ones that sang the song in rough translation to westron. In a binding column of beauty they joined in the Elven tongue to sing:

"Na sí dínen nuin yrn. Cuio pân gostar ai tôl sí." (Here under the trees it is silent. Let all who come here fear.)

It was an old song, made by some strayed creature, but still sung in jollity by those who knew it. And the words, glorified in the tongue of the Eldar, still held the forlorn meaning of their first singer.

"And they shall fear when they have seen our wrath," said Halbarad to Elladan, next to whom he rode.

"Let us hope that such a time does not come before we mean it to," Elladan responded wisely. "We do not want anyone alerted to our presence overly soon. And I fear that we sing loudly."

"Come, muindor," said Elrohir light-heartedly, "We are still seventy leagues from Dol Guldur and have passed through the Hithaeglir unscathed. I would say there is nothing keeping us back for now."

"Never is it good to throw caution away completely. _Gurgan an e_…"

"I know," said Elrohir quickly, "but don't be so worrisome or _û-charthatha rînneth_. If you did not despair, than there would be nothing to despair about, since that is your worry."

Elladan laughed softly, but the shadow did not leave his face. "Yes, it does appear ironic. But you are mistaken, for I deem us as near as fifty leagues to that forsaken place. See, we approach where the river Sîr Ninglor joins the Anduin. South of us stretched in the ages gone by the great forests of Laurelindórenan and Fangorn, interconnected."

As he spoke, the conversation in front of them paused, the speaker sat still, and the horse before Elladan slowed somewhat. Elrohir and Elladan watched in wary silence the back of Gwairiel as she turned again to Glorfindel. But they did not hear him say to her quietly, "Na adelist anaeg. Ú-tolitha ad cuil iphant i nant galui. Dartho ancared mín, ú anist lín." (Memory is pain. Think on what we do, not what we know.)

Elrohir spoke very quietly to his brother; "She has history here, and in those places. Do not distract her from her resolve. Despite her brave front, her heart is wavering. She has left half of herself in Rivendell, and the other half in Fangorn."

But he went silent again as Gwairiel slowed her horse and came to ride beside them.

"Gwedeirnin. Ai le túg?" My brothers, who leads you? "You speak of my innermost heart." The brothers glanced at each other, and she said, "I heard you well, am I not an Elf? Be not afraid, your words held much truth. But do not speak of such things so openly again."

And she rode up to the head of the column with Galdor. They continued to ride, all in silence. By evening they had passed Sîr Ninglor. They had ridden through the night before, so this time they stopped to give their horses a rest. Three were on watch, while the other four, Elrohir, Halbarad, Galdor, and the elf Sadrondir, lay down to rest. As Elrohir was laying out a blanket he heard Gwairiel say quietly, "There is a scent on the wind."

Everyone looked up. Since earlier the wind had picked up considerably, but the others could detect no smell. Gwairiel was peering off into the darkness. Elladan joined her.

"Man cenich?" What do you see?

"Úan." Monsters. She turned and looked at him, her eyes emotionless, "They follow me."

Elladan turned on the rest of them, who were hurrying to their horses. "Gather yourselves, prepare your weapons. Tolo! We must hurry."

Galdor and Sadrondir were quickly stringing their bows, and Glorfindel's was at the ready. Halbarad gripped his sword. Elladan turned to Gwairiel. She had not moved. "Tolo, Gwairiel!"

She did not move. Finally she tore her eyes away from the dark forest, and with a fiery energy, leapt upon her horse and spurred him forward.

They galloped southwest towards the Anduin, staying as near their course as possible. Soon they could all smell the foul air coming from the east. A cry rang out in the distance and they knew the smell of their camp had been found. They rode on.

The horses, though only having had a few hours rest, seemed freshened, or as though they knew the danger behind, and kept up a fast pace.

Gwairiel was leading, but Elladan rode up beside her and called above the air rushing in their ears, "We will draw level with the northern edge of Lothlorien within the hour."

She remained silent, so he continued, "we can either go east toward Dol Guldur and possibly become hemmed in between there and these monsters that come behind us. Or we can turn west and take refuge in the borders of Lothlorien."

"We ride to Dol Guldur," she said. "That is our purpose in coming."

Sadrondir had ridden up on the other side of Gwairiel from the back of the line. "My lady, whatever follows us, there are many, and they gain on us."

Elladan watched her. "It would be wise to seek refuge."

"The longer we wait, the more likely Sauron shall know of our presence, and the greater defense he can draw up." Even as she said this, a seering thought flashed through her mind, _Stay alive_. She froze for a moment, but said quickly, "Very well. We shall seek refuge."

She turned her horse and they followed her, the horses renewing their gallop as they raced towards the Anduin. As they reached it, Gwairiel veered south along it, searching its banks. As they came around one bend in the great river, she slowed to a stop.

"We have little time," she said hurriedly, "but here the river runs shallow, and ne'er over six feet. The Elves used to use it as a crossing, but beware and follow me. _Hebo an rein._" The spell was old, but would keep the other horses following her.

And with that, she urged the horse into the cold swirling current and began to cross. The trek was dangerous. She had to be careful to lead the horses only through the shallow parts, and a couple of times the horses had to swim where the water had worn down the riverbed. Every now and then a shrill shriek would sound behind them, coming closer and closer to the banks of the great river. Though shallow, it was also about a half a mile wide, and they were out in the open, with their backs to the enemy.

It was then, when they were halfway across, that the first of the creatures showed its face. Eight gleaming red eyes stared out of a bony head, and a great hairy leg stepped out into the water. Suddenly, a scream, high and cold, came out of the forest behind them. It heightened in pitch till it was only a searing pain, silent and bloody. All had fallen silent, from the shrieking of the creatures to the creak of trees in the strong wind.

"It cannot be," Sadrondir whispered, and in the silence they could all hear him.

"It is," responded Elrohir, now yelling. "Nazgul!"

They surged forward, not caring where they went, so long as they could get to the bank and the cover of trees. Glorfindel in the rear shot down the first of the creatures, but the others had reached the edge of the water and begun to cross. They were tall and many-legged, like spiders engorged to the size of a bull elephant. They had nothing to fear in the deepness of the water, and thundered across behind them.

All panic had fallen upon the horses. Any spell upon them had been broken, and in a flurry they rushed headlong away across the river. Halbarad's own steed tripped in the deep water, but Elladan rode up and whisked him away from the fast, dark current quickly. Halbarad, now on the back of Elladan's steed, proceeded to shoot down a few more of the gigantic monsters, but their approach was in no way slowed.

In the terror and rush, confused by noise, none of the riders looked to see his fellows. They came out upon the far bank closely followed, and in horror Galdor found that all were separated. Hearing hooves behind him, he called out in the Elven tongue, and soon was riding fast in the direction of the Golden Wood, followed by his comrades.

Glorfindel overtook the Elf of the Grey Havens, saying quickly, "Tolo! Lothlorien lies south not many miles. I know where to bring us to safety."

Gaining the forest had given them some time, but the creatures behind bore fast upon them, and slowly drew up to them, though at their speed the creatures could not get close enough to inflict damage. The Twins had both drawn their swords and rode on the flanks of their small company, hacking at anything near that moved. Twice they heard shrieks of pain, but still their pursuers were undeterred. They had to read to reach Lothlorien, where a constant watch and ready warriors always lay in wait. So the five steeds sped onwards.

But the sixth was headed east.


End file.
